Psionics is medicine for the mind
For the psychologists, for the intelligent.
A space craft is inside the tortured soul,
One robot to rule another,
A simple body docks with another
By the knife, and it is wise,
So perceptible to deliver the right and sapient
Move, the surgeon knows.
Psionics is all the toy,
It is for my boy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem