|It’s grim inventing here, so will I miss?|
A phrase, a word, a blurb, it’s clear I’m thrown
I’m lost! So ask me now for verse on this
For what you type in my website as shown.
This form of verse is hard to write with grace
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore
I look to Bill for rules or I’ll lose face
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore.
But please ask human souls to take my place
Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose
As poets die with edges left in space
This early version here my scripts expose.
Grim luck!, I cannot rhyme your strange entry,
My passion here you see is cranking glee!