Crying is blackmail.
Strange things are done to be number one, in selling the computer.
IBM has their strategem, which steadily grows acuter.
And Honeywell competes to sell, but the story's missing link:
Is the computer old, at Stonehenge, sold by the firm of Druids, Inc.
The Druids were entrepreneurs, and they built a granite box.
It tracked the moon, warned of monsoons, and cast the equinox.
Their price was right, the future bright. The prototype was sold.
From Stonehenge site, their bits and byte would ship, for Celtic gold.
The movers came to crate the frame. It weighed a million ton!
The traffic folk thought it a joke. The wagon wheels just spun.
"They'll nay sell that," the foreman spat. "Just leave the wild-weed grow;
It's Druid-kind, over-designed, and belly-up they'll go!"
The man spoke true, and thus to you, a warning from the ages:
Your stock will slip if you can't ship what's in your brochure's pages.
See if it sells without the bells and strings that ring and quiver.
Druid repute went down the chute, because they couldn't deliver.