Leaving lines implicit in the barest greens,
And all my handiwork is there to fade,
Into the background but yet less,
Amidst the creeping things.
Among the silent gains upon the buttress of the sky,
Till all is naught and tall reeds lie:
My lines so fairly gone.

Words sculpted with aerospace precision,
Dressing parts in glimmers of obligation,
Hard edges to a vacant sense of function,
Perhaps the clarity of the component's reflection,
Is a sense of security though it cools the heart.

You've been Eugene'd,
My hubris and spleen,
Convict me as mean,
So here we convene,
About fields ungreened,
The chasm between,
And words left too lean:
You are no less preened,
You have my apologies.
\- Eugene DeGooseman.