Analytical Engine I do not understand,
no head for numbers, only words,
weave your programmed pattern,
compute for me some music,
activate the wings of mechanical birds,
motivate my mind to stimulate machinery.
I will tell you something about history.
Navigate the ocean,
map the waste of water,
Analytical Engine, Victorian computer,
amaze me like a Mayan calendar.
Tell me of Ada Lovelace, Byron’s daughter,
who knew of your potential,
had a vision for you,
beyond that of Charles Babbage, your designer,
but she left the stage,
long before the computer had its age.
We all have our limits,
the universe has none.
Almost I grasp what is,
then the moment’s gone.