Linux Songs Poems

Twenty two thousand days.
Twenty two thousand days.
It's not a lot.
It's all you've got.
Twenty two thousand days.
                -- Moody Blues, "Twenty Two Thousand Days"

        Two men looked out from the prison bars,
        One saw mud--
        The other saw stars.

Now let me get this right: two prisoners are looking out the window.
While one of them was looking at all the mud -- the other one got hit
in the head.

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright            Where the hammer?  Where the chain?
In the forests of the night,            In what furnace was thy brain?
What immortal hand or eye               What the anvil?  What dread grasp
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?        Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

Burnt in distant deeps or skies         When the stars threw down their spears
The cruel fire of thine eyes?           And water'd heaven with their tears
On what wings dare he aspire?           Dare he laugh his work to see?
What the hand dare seize the fire?      Dare he who made the lamb make thee?

And what shoulder & what art            Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
Could twist the sinews of they heart?   In the forests of the night,
And when thy heart began to beat        What immortal hand or eye
What dread hand & what dread feet       Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in thy horrid ribs dare steep
In the well of sanguine woe?
In what clay & in what mould
Were thy eyes of fury roll'd?
                -- William Blake, "The Tyger"

U:      There's a U -- a Unicorn!
        Run right up and rub its horn.
        Look at all those points you're losing!
        UMBER HULKS are so confusing.
                -- The Roguelet's ABC

Under the wide and heavy VAX
Dig my grave and let me relax
Long have I lived, and many my hacks
And I lay me down with a will.
These be the words that tell the way:
"Here he lies who piped 64K,
Brought down the machine for nearly a day,
And Rogue playing to an awful standstill."

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig my grave and let me lie,
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And laid me down with a will,
And this be the verse that you grave for me,
Here he lies where he longed to be,
Home is the sailor home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
                -- R. Kipling

Up against the net, redneck mother,
Mother who has raised your son so well;
He's seventeen and hackin' on a Macintosh,
Flaming spelling errors and raisin' hell...

Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.       Still round the corner there may wait
  Tree and flower and leaf and grass,   A new road or a secret gate,
  Let them pass!  Let them pass!        And though we pass them by today
  Hill and water under sky,             Tomorrow we may come this way
  Pass them by!  Pass them by!          And take the hidden paths that run
                                        Towards the Moon or to the Sun,
Home is behind, the world ahead,          Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
And there are many paths to tread         Let them go!  Let them go!
Through shadows to the edge of night,     Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Until the stars are all alight.           Fare you well!  Fare you well!
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back to home and bed.
  Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
  Away shall fade!  Away shall fade!
  Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
  And then to bed!  And then to bed!
                -- J. R. R. Tolkien

Voicless it cries,
Wingless flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters.

Volcanoes have a grandeur that is grim
And earthquakes only terrify the dolts,
And to him who's scientific
There is nothing that's terrific
In the pattern of a flight of thunderbolts!
                -- W.S. Gilbert, "The Mikado"