
Strange things are done to be number one
In selling the computer			The Druids were entrepreneurs,
IBM has their strategem			And they built a granite box
Which steadily grows acuter,		It tracked the moon, warned of monsoons,
And Honeywell competes like Hell,	And forecast the equinox
But the story's missing link		Their price was right, their future
Is the system old at Stonemenge sold		bright,
By the firm of Druids, Inc.		The prototype was sold;
					From Stonehenge site their bits and byte
					Would ship for Celtic gold.
The movers came to crate the frame;
It weighed a million ton!
The traffic folk thought it a joke	The man spoke true, and thus to you
(the wagon wheels just spun);		A warning from the ages;
"They'll nay sell that," the foreman	Your stock will slip if you can't ship
	spat,				What's in your brochure's pages.
"Just leave the wild weeds grow;	See if it sells without the bells
"It's Druid-kind, over-designed,	And strings that ring and quiver;
"And belly up they'll go."		Druid repute went down the chute
					Because they couldn't deliver.
		-- Edward C. McManus, "The Computer at Stonehenge"
