One last poem by turbulence / numerics researcher Prof. Brian Spalding
I shall have no regrets when I am dead.
Of deadlines none will matter but my own.
Unwritten papers? Hopelessly misled.
Inheritors? All claimants I’ll disown.
Yet hope, while still alive, there’ll be but few
Who think: I was a fool to trust him.
Now that he’s gone, what am I going to do?
None I would hope; but guess the chance is slim.
Yet, in that soon-to-close window of time,
There’s much I want to do; and think I can.
Always too optimistic is what I’m
Dismissed as. To disprove it is my plan.
‘After such labours,’ I would have it said,
‘It must be truly blissful to be dead.’
Brian Spalding