MINESWEEPER
The Minesweeper Suite [Enter The Gods!] Sing a song of light verse straight Rhetor on math in grids of grace The Minesweeper, a game that aims to sate Desire bound for 'rithmetic pace [Enter the bard. A simple tune.] (Part I) The Beginner Smile! the novice plays to learn The double-clicks and number-fame In time, in cycles, they will return, To race their luck and test their game. The Beginner is a certain centre, Full of charm and satisfaction, She stands your day, your knowing mentor, Your hand-guide to a convex fraction... Little else holds much more joy, Then this small square deflower'd, See your point, then deploy Watch the spaces inbetween devoured Too long gone trout, you've tucked the hook! Beginning time stacked on for days Stop awhile and close this book, This little game, these heady ways (Part II) Intermeed [He begins to circle, looming on his lute, and budgering his eyebrows] Don't need it, I don't, nor play it either The Indermeed was not meant to cipher that precious salt which we invest, Time of Company, Person, Midnight Zest. Formed way back when by the hands of man, The game was structured, split and zoned... The Programmers followed a certain plan, And left the level skin and bone It acts as a cushion, rubber in the jar Concepts that work when seen from afar Standing alone an idea half-baked Included here for completion's sake (Part III) The Expert [The main refrain. Bolstering.] The Expert squats and spreads its belly Slowly brooding on your screen Demands a figured Machiavelli With ken of probability routine A sea of squares, mines in disguise All wearing cryptic number-crowns We walk the plank and fear the rise - Rise o' the punched-out smiley frown In time this sea becomes our ally What was once an enemy is now a friend We learn the routes to which we trade by Ask any player to this end? Automation minds the Experts' finger Eyes racing the clock in ticks The timer marking brains that linger The mouse moves riveted in clicks Blocked in corners, chance left to fate Time gently running from your score Frustration builds a steady hate So cut blind, sail another, play one more! (Part IV) The Custom Beginning something is part routine Completion the reserve of the choice Persevere inquirer for in this scene There's purpose to the Custom's voice The Custom stands forlorn and shy Coy with measure of reproach Go on! Play God she does imply [The Gods furrow their collective brow] But beware and listen to Your Coach [The Gods in a collective, commanding bass] Stop setting maxual mine coverage And dying on the second guess 'Stead fashion something level-handed Frame your mind, resist excess [An aside - the music quietens but the beat taps on, the bard hurries through his words, as if being timed from some corner] And notice nomatter how the field is designed Even full up to maximum mines The very first click will always beget, The number, never the frown ? Between that click and the next one down The minefield is verily set! [He winks, then brings it all back home...'hoe-down' musical crescendo moving into stripped down main refrain for the kiss-off] Gentlemen, Ladyfolk, all that know the present- [There are always murmurs from the audience at this point...] Forgetting not Waystayeers who have fought on- My Apologies for the weak content... The Game deserves more pleasing song Join me Gods, come bang the drum, Praise the numbers in the hidden sums Working the Equations Mathamatical Into a Land Use good and Ethical? [The Gods add a fine baritone and a subtle bass] Attached to Windows versions from the Start! Messenger with an easy heart! Proselythyzer of anonymous time Minesweeper! Minesweeper! Game sublime! [Flourish]
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