In a chamber dim, with scrolls arrayed,
Sir Isaac Newton, in alchemy played.
With a wig so white and a mind so bright,
He sought the Stone, from day to night.
"Gravity's fine," he'd oft declare,
"But turning lead to gold, now that's rare!"
He mixed and he poured, with potions aglow,
Hoping for gold, but getting just woe.
"Eureka!" he cried, but alas, in vain,
For his potion turned lead into a weather vane.
He scribbled and plotted, under moon's light,
The Philosopher's Stone, just out of sight.
In his quest for gold, he encountered a cat,
Whiskered and wise, and rather fat.
"Newton," it purred, "this task's a riddle,
You can't solve this with just a fiddle."
Newton paused, his gaze quite stern,
"A talking cat? Now that's a turn!"
But the cat just winked, its tail it twirled,
"In alchemy, you'll find a new world."
With flasks and flames, Newton's quest grew wilder,
He looked less a scholar, more a childer.
"Gold, gold!" he'd chant, in the candle's glow,
While outside his window, the world moved slow.
One night, so late, in a fuming spree,
Newton concocted a peculiar tea.
He drank it down, with a gulp and a gasp,
And found himself with a parrot's rasp!
"Alas, alack!" Newton did squawk,
"I sought the Stone, but now I can talk
Like a bird of the air, not a man of the earth,
What's the value of gold, what's it really worth?"
The cat just laughed, its eyes a-twinkle,
"Newton, your methods, they need a re-thinkle.
Seek not for gold in lead or stone,
But in the wonders that you have shown."
With a sigh and a shrug, Newton saw the light,
His quest for gold, abandoned outright.
He returned to his science, with a new, wise frown,
The alchemist's robe, for a scholar's gown.
So remember Sir Isaac, in his room so stark,
The man who quested for a mythical mark.
In his search for the Stone, he found instead,
A universe of wonders, in his brilliant head.