While he makes up his mind whether
He is Zhuang Zhu dreaming he is a butterfly
Or a butterfly dreaming he is Zhuang Zhu
He is condemned to exist or not in the box
Originally built for Schrodinger's cat.
The cat left years ago through a flaw
In Schrodinger's reasoning but the box
Remains as it was -- a handsome thing
Of dark wood and gleaming brass. Some day
The lid will be pushed back and a butterfly
Will flutter out unless Zhuang Zhu steps
Urbanely forth, gathering his robes about him,
Surprising the scientists standing round
With catfood and shovels.
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