Ode to Science

Abstract

In silent halls where thinkers tread,

With minds alight and sleep long shed,

Where whispers turn to thunderous thought,

There blooms the art that cannot be bought.

Not bound by creed, nor chained by name,

Its only god: the truth it claims.

Through every age, through war and peace,

Its quest for knowledge does not cease.

It starts with wonder, soft and small,

A child’s glance, a droplet’s fall—

Why does the apple hit the ground?

Why do the stars not make a sound?