The artist looks at the sea, and sees,
     The cresting of waves that scatter the light
     into hues of blue and green motion in flight.
     The forms of the rocks, beaten by waves,
     their balancing of bumps and water-carved caves.
     She sees the contrasts of motions and stills,
     and of dark ocean depths and white-water frills.
     To her it looks like a great artist, with care,
     has set out his painting for all artists to share.
The artist looks at the sea, and says,
     "This is beauty." and loves it like that.

The scientist looks at the sea, and sees,
     The order in motion, of mathematical forms
     the shaping of clouds that may become storms,
     but now are peaceful, in the refracted sunbeams
     tossed up by the waves which are moving in teams.
     He sees the patterns, and yet knows the equations
     are still far ahead man's wildest aspirations.
     To him it looks like a great scientist, with care,
     has written a puzzle for all other scientists to dare.
The scientist looks at the sea, and says,
     "This is order." and loves it like that.

Then fool looks at the sea, and sees,
     Artistry better than his, and thus he calls it bland,
     and physics unfathomable, he cannot understand.
     To him it looks like a great monster, unfair,
     has made a world so beyond us, for despair.
The fool looks at the sea, and says,
     "This is boring." and leaves it like that.