by Nick Gisburne
The miracle, the gift, is much maligned
By scientists who say he is a fool
The muddle of ideas in his mind
Is worse than any fable found in school
But no, the strange, astonishing device
Conceived in just a morning, quick as that
Restores the planet’s fast-receding ice
A problem no collective could combat
Despised by those who claim it can’t be true
His genius is twisted to the mad
Tomorrow comes a glorious debut
Automatons, for which the world is glad
Until, amused, he activates them all
And Earth becomes a barren, burning ball
