Why Scientists Don’t Write Poetry

A pillow’s softness, from how it behaves:
To forces it reacts yet it conforms.
The patient repitition of a wave,
Transforming an atom from form to form.
How everything existing had begun,
Matter from matter moving fast away.
How everything is hidden in the sum
Of amplitudes of all the different ways.
Yet all the things I do ’till now express
Are mere fragments of a deeper core.
How would I love to faithfully address
The full wonders with all of their galore.
Yet when I try those feelings to compose
My poetry is hightened into prose.

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