100 OPAL Papers

The printer queues are always long -

Dense plots with axes set up wrong

By kumacs that left PAW perplexed,

Or postscript files printed as text,

Single-sided OPAL Primers,

The collected works of obscure rhymers,

ROPE code that is never called,

Histograms the printer mauled,

That had the wrong cuts anyway -

And someone always fills the tray,

And so the influx rate stays stable -

They gather dust on the printer table.

The trees that drank the sun and rain

And waved their boughs on hill and plain

And were cut down to feed this pile

Must find this practice truly vile.

Though taken out of nature, some

Are pleased with that which they've become:

They're been turned to paper for

OPAL papers by the score;

Though taken out of nature, they're

In papers which show nature clear

And manifest in all her glory -

Each an untold epic story

Of battles with systematic errors,

Editorial boards, and other terrors;

I'd rather not think how much labor

Went into each single paper,

Especially since I must admit

I haven't read all hundred yet -

Has anyone? Has Terry, or Rolf?

Has anyone read even half?

(When my hundredth OPAL poem is done

Will it be read by anyone?)

One hundred papers - I wonder what's

The error on that? For what cuts?

One hundred papers - we should make

A sail from them, and tour the lake,

And when we're safely back on shore

Go home and write one hundred more.