I saw a man knap stone, it had glint,
Creating tools made of obsidian and flint,
What should I call him? I had not a hint.
I saw the man’s son controlling hot fire,
To create bronze, he wished to aspire,
A name for him? It is my greatest desire.
I saw the man’s descendants working the bellows,
Making iron and steel, those creative fellows,
Should I give them a title? Overly zealous?
But then it took them two hundred-fifty generations,
To invent binary and hexadecimal creations,
A name shall I give them? – not with my occupations!
As they invested their spare time, these risk-takers,
And abused their minds at night, these lay-awakers,
I know! – – – – – – – – – – Let’s call them toolmakers.