A mad woman, good with clanks,
handy with machines that move.
Maybe not mad, but a genius.
She would sing and build, lost within.
I would bring her food, lamb shanks,
maybe sing a song or groove.
A sharp woman, good with knives,
her machines would carve the world.
Emerging gifts, emerging lives.
Keeping us safe from strange new plights.
I'd make sandwiches, slice some chives.
We'd watch as the land unfurled.
Genius woman, good with tech,
to her growing towns would flock.
Lead us or not, I do not know
though to her we would all rely.
Perhaps she'd build us a mech.
Or towns, in danger, could walk.
feeds for ,