Ode to the vestigial,
To the products of obsolescence,
That remain in quiet dignity.
They sit waiting,
For our curious or grateful greetings.
We have visited the newer halls,
Those with fresh functions.
Their majordomos have confused us.
We turn away,
Bewildered by their demands,
New to us,
Those who are so knowledgeable.
Thus, we traverse to the old,
In hope that our tasks may be completed,
With swift understanding and gentle hands.
Under their guidance,
Our quests finished,
And leaving them to stand guard once more.
unknownclimate 