This admirable gadget, when it is <br />Wound on a string and spun with steady force, <br />Maintains its balance on most any smooth <br />Surface, pleasantly humming as it goes. <br />It is whirled not on a constant course, but still <br />Stands in unshivering integrity <br />For quite some time, meaning nothing perhaps <br />But being something agreeable to watch, <br />A silver nearly silence gleaning a still- <br />ness out of speed, composing unity <br />From spin, so that its hollow spaces seem <br />Solids of light, until it wobbles and <br />Begins to whine, and then with an odd lunge <br />Eccentric and reckless, it skids away <br />And drops dead into its own skeleton.<br /><br />Howard Nemerov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gyroscope/
