Phasmid

I wrote this rhyme to break a spell

That made me think my eyes saw well:

A rose by any other name,

Or butterfly that looks the same?

The children round the storybook

Know when they take another look -

Or they replay a favoured game -

The tale is never quite the same.

The clone is but our own belief

That hides the insect on the leaf.

For chips designed to simulate

Will never recreate their mate.

The Twins – forever two in one -

Show where such sums must come undone;

For if I’m here I can’t be there

(Unless here-there is everywhere)

Tomorrow cannot be today,

Or reproduced another way.

All copies simply don’t exist

Beyond the swirl of human mist;

For we cannot remake A Thing

With nosuchthing as ‘copying’.

And still I see what this reveals,

Not creatures camouflage conceals.