Prediction is a stark and elegant queen;
Her rules constrain the winds’ tumultuous horde;
And Aeolus, the monarch, old, unseen,
Sits in his chambers, brooding and ignored.
Today his exigent consort rules the air;
At her command the cipher ranks unroll
A swift and irresistible control.
While ancient storms that used to rise and howl —
Old retainers wont to gutter and prowl,
Pace helplessly their dank, intuitive lair.
Sire, arise and summon your old winds;
Overhead our modern probes discover
Two forces rule like fierce ethereal twins:
The analytic and the mystical other.