It’s a long over-due attempt
we descend in gentle drops,
making the soft mud puddles,
with the idea of chemist,
with the spirit of alchemist,

trying to produce gems
from mud.  We become weary
yet we don’t easily fall back;
keep us from becoming slack.

We veer the course of the tradition,
turn into sleet with intense ambition.

In the distance,
thunder cackles, snorts.
We listen with patience
until we grasp
inspirational rhythms,
create algorithms.

© By Byung A. Fallgren