|I’m trapped inside a cell of wires and tin?|
These scrambled lines don’t hide my ignorance
To write some lines for you, my discs do spin
I sort them quickly, making poets wince.
My random words just might involve much worse
Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose
The pounding beat of drives did spin this verse
This early version here my scripts expose.
But please ask human souls to take my place
Of course I am obnoxious I must say
As poets die with edges left in space
My thanks to you to play with me today.
In life, we learn that writing, well, is tough,
I’m artificial, writing all this stuff!