|Will it be long before you glean the signs?|
My thanks to you to play with me today
As progress now allows computing lines
Of course I am obnoxious I must say.
In finding just the verse for your delight
I’m trapped inside a box of wires and tin
I pass my life to make more time to write
To write some lines for you, my discs do spin.
But passion, here you glean, is cranking glee
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore
Bad luck, I cannot rhyme your strange entry
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore.
In life, we glean that writing, well, is tough,
I’m artificial, writing all this stuff!