’Twas the day before Macworld, and all through the nets
were all taking
The photos were taken of posters afar,
In hopes that St. Jobs’ stuff would clearly show thar.
The faithful were ready, asleep in their homes,
With thoughts of Mac tablets a-dance in their domes;
As Phil with his keyboard, and Steve with his phone,
Prepared to present and to throw us a bone,
But out on the Web sites there was such a clatter,
I surfed to them all, to read up on their patter.
Come Tuesday, to Expo I ran in a dash,
A pause I did make just to get me some cash.
The moon on the heads of the other Mac nuts
Was a sign of how early we’d all left our huts.
We dreamed of new hardware, new software, new gear,
More movies, an
a-growl to make
And one more thing too, but what could that be?
Not even the journalists were privy to see.
We waited a-flutter like pilgrims so true,
As we shuffled our feet and dreamed of the new,
We stood out on line, in the cool morning air,
Knowing soon, very soon, Mr. Jobs would be there.
Then what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a glorious limo whose purpose was clear,
With a little old driver, and a man in the back,
We all knew in our hearts that he’d be dressed in black.
More rapid than eagles, his people they came,
And he whistled, cajoled, and he called them by name;
To the top of the hall! To the front of the stage!
Come, hurry, run to me, we’ve
To all of the pilgrims who’d flown on long flights,
Happy Expo to all, and to all a good night.