(The Unified Theory)
Upon his great mandrel, curved,
Matter, he has spread as thin
As butter, ‘til seen clean through.
Should it tear, all there would begin
As though the universe were new.
And at falling edge, hidden fields curl
To charge the thundering stems
And point the wandering compass.
Sure, at the core, energy. But when
Will we be light, not sluggish mass?
From the cottage, white wisps unfurl
Downwind like peaceful pennants.
Within, two friends warm tired feet,
And, content, these ancient tenants
Enjoy fresh pipes and smoldering peat.
And in their quiet, unfiltered world,
They serve the proper penance
For odd stories told incomplete.
And, contrite, they burn night-minutes
Until, at last, ‘tis time they eat.
______________________
James Clerk Maxwell
Albert Einstein
