Sparkers Lament

A nondescript nonentity, a gift of the oppressed,
I wear no badges on my arm, no medals on my chest.
And though my past is colourless, my future dim and bleak.
I cherish a distinction which is possibly unique.

Of all the mass of traffic through the tortured ether hurled,
by all the busy Tels of all the Navies of the World.
No morse of mine impinged upon a fellow sparker’s ear,
I never sent a signal in the whole of my career.

I would often sit and ponder when Control would let me in,
to add my little quota to the universal din.
(???) (???) (???) surrendered to my fate.
eternally to sit and serve by being told to wait.

(?)
(?)
(?)
I gently, briefly, pressed the key to see what it would do.

I sometimes sit and wonder where that blameless dot has gone,
and if through endless time and space, it hurries bravely on.
Disowned by it’s creator, dismissed it’s parent ship,
unauthorised, attenuated, lonely little pip.

(?)
(?)
… ????? ………………………………and perhaps,
beings in some far off world will trace it back to me,
as surely as Mountbatten did in 1943.