Forsooths!

Saturday, March 29, 2025

Good morning, that wonderful way.

Hola. O/

How’s the day?

Shiny and bright a great delight?

Polished and grey not much to say?

Weathered, strong, and true just like you?

Snow remembers it’s Spring and turns to rain, slush puddles make sleet slopped shoes here.

Hope all’s well.

On with the show.

Dreams planted long ago took root. Almost time to surface.

Spring calls for new Life, aids resurrections.

Got my poet get-descriptive pen on me today.

Moonbeams turn to daydreams; sunrise shows.

Our bodies rest and do their best at night to make dream deposits of the day to wherever we go when we die.

Got my poet wax-on on this morning.

Perhaps it’s the fertile soil finally thawed enough to put the rain right to work that calls for pregnant metaphors to spring alive.

Shoots shoot forsooths through the topsoil; similes like sunflowers sprout quick for Spring.

It’s sound.

Why AI can never craft a sentence as well as you or I.
Why AI can never sing a song, slide on a violin string, press a keyboard key as well as you or I.

It’s expression of the arrangement of the quantity of paint, the quality of loud and soft notes, the rhythm of each syllable that makes us necessary.

Each expression is in each endpoint.

The spirit in which each new mathematical proof is proved is proof the spirit reigns supreme.

What makes the scientist want to measure is the measure of our lives.

Take care, wax poetic, wax scientific, wax a wonderful day.