Laser

In a quiet lab the night hums low,
A thin, fierce beam of light begins to glow—
A laser, pure and steady, draws its line,
Slicing darkness with a photon’s design.

It dances on the surface of a crystal pane,
Refracting rainbows in a silent refrain,
Each pulse a whisper of disciplined fire,
A modern Excalibur of wired desire.

Surgeons rely upon its razor‑thin kiss,
To mend what flesh has torn or missed,
While engineers etch circuits, fine and stark,
Turning silicon dreams into a spark.

Yet wonder lives beyond the practical gleam—
In laser shows where colours boldly stream,
They paint the night with waves of cobalt, jade,
A fleeting aurora that night‑owls have made.

So here’s to light that bends, that cuts, that sings,
A focused chorus that the universe brings—
In British labs and studios alike,
The laser’s quiet power strikes.