|You might plead human souls. Should I replace?|
To churn such verse a billion times a day
As poets die with edges left in space
I keep all waiting long, I hope you stay.
In finding just the verse for your delight
My sonnets suffer now from you, my foe
I pass my life to make more time to write
You test, you prod, and I do feel your blow.
But how it seems I need a gig or two
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore
A query finds and I do write for you
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore.
Oh! Please, dear soul, I plead some verse to make,
You canâ€™t just stop me now!, I plead a break!