Too Point Ooooh …
Replican, replicant, copy like an ant.
Imitation is as old as nature,
Perfecting perfection to its stature,
Always on the minds of men.
Sumer scribes keeping score,
Counting talents in days of yore.
Counting makes kings of men.
Gives them hope, gives them yen.
The Egyptians' art was so pure.
A minion of artisans toiled by the year.
Duplicating Pharaoh's wishes with careful hand,
Displaying his countenance upon the land.
Rollover Gutenberg, in your shop,
The printing press has come to a stop.
The offset process is long gone.
Progress, like time, marches on.
Digitizing it all in alchemist blend.
Words, voice and music, when will it end?
Scan, stylize, synthesize, and send.
Merging motion to the creator’s tend.
Copy the Masters for your wall.
Copy the great works--copy them all!
Knockoff, ripoff, plunder and score.
After all, what's a copyright for?
days genetics is right at the edge,
And though we may posture, though we may hedge.
Digital cloning is right round the corner,
While we sit like little Jack Horner.
Replicate for all it’s worth,
Is nothing sacred on this Earth?
A brave new world is at hand.
A new creation upon the land.
Just where do you stand?
I’m on slippery, shifting sand.
Copyright 2003 © Ronald W. Hull