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A Scientist’s Acrostic
From Diary of a Cell
Scientists are like beetles
Crawling over the earth, antennae twitching,
In tune with the mysteries
Einstein whispered under a star-polished
Night sky. He chose the celestial playground by
Convention-even logic, as beetles know, can be
Enhanced by beauty.
Illumination dawns after years of
Scratching through dark leaves, dirt.
Lying on one’s back, legs flailing,
Is temporary, and not, as some imagine
Fundamental failure or
Even such a bad thing.