We crawl over this world, like cats on covers.
History lies below, incomplete and half-discovered,
All knowledge, which we must seek and save and hoard,
and, because it's incomplete, assiduously record.
A thousand years of treading light or pawing at the earth
Reveals but a part of all there was to its (and our own) birth.
Let's commit it to paper, so it may still be found
When we (and electricity) no longer here abound.
