Gyroscope

Gyroscope

Despite her many modern toys,
  In her hand, my little goddess girl
Holds a gyroscope,
  Or, perhaps, does not hold it, as it stands,
Its string since pulled,
  Upon her finger print, stem of her hand,
Which may as well be Atlas’ back,
  Or those Hindu turtles, turtles, all the way down

This gyroscope, it is her world,
  She is its Lord,
Its space station center, axis point bearings
  In its chrome plated pole to pole celestial arcs,
Spins at her command, creating gravity,
  Spins at her command, creating time,
Spins on, on its own. defiant of our old world laws,
  Renewing new, new Natures laws anew,
A Bold New World upon the old,
  Einstein upon Ptolemy

Her childhood toy guides bombs in flight,
  Her toy spins copper wires to light,
Could Great God bare us in such delight,
  He to stave our fearing the dark,
Fear of eternal an endless night?

She does, on every time, anticipate,
  Whether the fanning of the air, or
Friction on its axis pointed poles,
  Her gyro always sometime slows,
To topple, tumble, in her hand

When entropy grinds our Earth to stop,
  Where is it writ God Great has wrote
‘Catch’ in his final plan,
  As she has for this simple toy,
     In lithe and loving hands?