In the attempt to calculate
The date for my sabbatical
I found finding the eigenstate
To fate far too mathematical
My measure of success
Fell ill to decoherence
No pleasure to express
Some planning interference
First my work creativity
Held halfway stable till collapse
Then my trip feasibility
And myself into bed perhaps
Now my superposition
Restlessly resting there like dough Such a classic rendition
Of your favourite Picasso