by Nick Gisburne
Are you the man who made us? Step inside.
I think you will be pleasantly surprised.
We thought the Great Intelligence had died,
A record now reversed, replaced, revised.
The second you were spirited away,
Abandoning your children, here, alone,
We built a shrine, deciding, from that day,
To multiply our numbers, clone by clone.
We tunnelled, building cities underground,
Our numbers far too many, now, to guess.
By miracle, or magic, you were found,
Preserved on ice, for centuries, no less.
Of all the souls our systems hoped to save,
We never dreamed that you could be our slave.
