Friday, March 11, 2005

Hey, I Had One Of Those, Too!

Pharyngula: Digital Photomicrography

A mournful song of microscopes
Is mine to sing, alas;
Of microscopes and liquid soaps,
And shards of broken glass.

When I was but a little Wrong
A microscope had I.
My father got it for a song;
He spent more on his tie.

It had a black box on its top
A roll of film inside;
You pulled the cord, and out would pop
A snapshot of your slide.

The snapshots were a little blurred;
I thought I'd wash the lens
And that was when the slip occurred
On which my tale depends.

I lathered up my instrument
With extra-gentle suds.
I used a scrubbing implement
On all its knobs and studs.

At last, I set it down to dry
Upon the tabletop,
But, soapy-slick, it scudded by;
It was a goodly drop.

A mournful song of microscopes
Is mine to sing, alack;
Of microscopes and liquid soaps,
And snapshots turned black.

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