Once upon a morning dreary,
While I stared with vision bleary
At my Starbase Graphics Techniques that I've done since days of yore,
As I stared with eyelids burning,
Suddenly I was discerning
John Woods was no more returning, as he'd done for years before.
We would see him nevermore.
"He's retiring," so they told us,
And a coldness seemed to hold us;
Who would write the hardware manuals John had written heretofore?
His experience and his knowledge
Can't be gotten just from college;
Many years of working gave him insight that we can't ignore!
Is he gone, forevermore?
Well, of course, we won't believe it--
After all, who could conceive it?
Working without Johnny is an option we dare not explore.
Every day, he says "Good Morning!"
Always cheerful, never scorning,
How will we survive if John, in very deed, goes out the door?
We'll be sunk, forevermore!
But I guess he's really leaving,
So we'll have to quench our grieving;
Stem the waxing tide of heaving heavy sighs and moans and more.
Now he's free of daily toil,
Hardware books his day to spoil,
Now he'll paint with brush and oil, ink, and charcoal evermore,
This will make his spirits soar.
But the rest of us will miss him;
From his work, we must dismiss him,
Many years he's worked and labored, toiling at his daily chore.
Now he's free to take it easy,
Painting scenes of meadows breezy,
Mountains high, and cedar trees, he fills his easel yet once more.
Enjoy it, John, forevermore.
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