The recent spate of threads reminescing about old hardware reminded me of
a poem, first published (as far as I know) in "The Programmer's ABCs",
_Datamation_, June 1975:

    N

    N is the Noon. Much more than dreary Night
    The noontime hour sees rise the rotting dead
    Who from their wooden cells go muttering forth.
    Then will you hear them speak of ancient wrongs,
    Of projects cancelled, systems vague and strange,
    Of intricate enhancements ill designed,
    And long-lost deadlines. Then also do they chart
    Forgotten job streams flowing in the night
    To since-discarded listings. Men they curse
    Who plucked procrustean schedules from the air
    And then departed, called to high estate
    In distant companies, long-since forgot.
    Great deeds they now recall, and happier days,
    And rusted hardware, powered once again
    By memory and misted rosy dream.
    Delay lines fill, and vacuum tubes warm up,
    And heroes (greater than the men we know)
    Who never from their standards did depart
    Stand forth among them, calling them to war.
    Then should the Living shudder and know fear,
    And tremble at the mutterings of the Dead.
    But hoary time, in envy lest these shades
    Usurp the little space of those who breathe,
    Now moves the clock unto the hour of one
    And sends them back to work 'til coffee-break.

      -- David H.H. Diamond

-- Bruce


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