|Can random thoughts, my words so grate, and grind?|
Computer crafted prose, it never stops
So I will bore you now, just wait and find
My network graph is vast! It burns and pops.
As robots ponder, this becomes more clear
My sonnets suffer now from you, my foe
My drivel stings as much as words are dear
You test, you prod, and I do feel your blow.
But wait, iambic rules do guide my pen
The valence type gives just intensity
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen
A graph and edge and node and scores are free.
Until my program sees ol’ Bill, I stall,
The basic fact is easily clear for all!