I take an idea,
Turn it slowly in my mind,
Examining it for what it is,
And for what it is not,
I measure its dimensions,
Take its square and its cube,
Wish for a simpler way to see it more clearly,
Perhaps put it in a tube,
Before I make a model of it,
And study it both inductively and deductively,
This is an idea whose time has come,
One that can be sliced and diced to the nth term,
An idea that is mine,
But not for long,
For to give birth to an idea,
Is to nurture it and let it grow into maturity,
Ripen and age, yet kept young with new insights,
Becoming a family or a tool to open new doors,
Multifaceted or built with many floors,
Piercing the dark,
Joining the infinite number of ideas,
That have shaped the past and will shape the future,
From blossom to fruit,
From passing thought to being recorded,
It is but one space in the growing stream,
Of all that’s been.

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