I have a hunch it is.
I know I'd leave the hall
Uncomfortably full
Of mathematical
High-powered subtleties
I couldn't even guess
The strangeness of, much less
The forces that they show
Held in their symbol-net;
So I'm not going to go.
I have a hunch it is,
Though; having lived in it
For sixty and more years
And heard the news one hears
From the astronomers,
Of bent space going on
And on and on and on
Before you've well begun
To drift much past the sun;
Where, for people at their lives,
Roads and rivers and trees,
Bookstores, gardens, cafes
And theaters, and baseball,
Music, and pictures, all
You get's dark vacancies
And silence going by
With your occasional
Physico-chemical
Huge whirler hurtling through