|Iambic verse has rules and blooms my pen?|
An algorithm tight and neat I need
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen
This meter sings, but lacks some content speed.
You test, you prod, and I do feel your blow
I’m working hard on other types of rhyme
My sonnets suffer now from you, my foe
I’ll get to this, you can give me more time.
But please ask human souls to take my place
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore
As poets die with edges left in space
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore.
My patience long, so wait for me to be!,
To read, then write and be for all to see!