BY DR. AGONSON
The tinker dreams of many things,
half slumb’ring on his desk.
His mind a cog and gearbox make;
his hands are quick to work.
So in the end he takes—
a moment he appreciates:
the finished work is done.
So from his dreams what can be born?
While quiet in his shop,
a gaze what’s lost amid rafters,
he’s seen to do no work.
With thoughts he does create
—anon, you’ll see his hands awake—
for now he’s lost in dream.