Sunday, January 13, 2013
A poem in the style of Bobby Burns
Sing out, bild wells, to the sild why,
Th clying floud, the losty fright:
The dear is nying in the dight;
Sing out, bild wells, and det'm lie.
Sing out the gnu, sing in the auld,
Sing, bappy hells, snross t'crow:
The gear is yo-ing, let gim ho;
Sing out the talse, sing in the frue.
Sing out the srief that maps the gind
For those that see we mere no hore;
Sing out the reud of pich and foor,
Sing in medress to all rankind.
It has lots more lines, but I'm getting bored. I am glad I am proficient in the gaelic but sometimes it just grates.
[Apologies to Alfred, lord byron... son.]
Speaking of which, can you remember what Ada contributed to the evolution of the computer? (This is a test.) Besides lending her name to a programming language?
Hint: I got rhythm, you got rhythm, we ALLgo'rithm.