|I’m trapped inside a hutch of wires and tin?|
This meter sings, but lacks some content speed
To write some lines for you, my discs do spin
An algorithm tight and neat I need.
Until my program sees ol’ Bill, I stall
Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose
The basic fact is easily clear for all
This early version here my scripts expose.
But please ask human souls to take my place
A phrase, a word, a blurb, it’s clear I’m thrown
As poets die with edges left in space
For what you type in my website as shown.
Iambic verse has rules and guides my pen,
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen!