|Can't I just pluck this now? I ask a break!|
A phrase, a word, a blurb, it’s clear I’m thrown
Oh please, dear soul, I ask some verse to make
For what you type in my website as shown.
So here I have a canned default for thee
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore
Oh no, not that! A term so strange for me!
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore.
But please ask human souls to take my place
My sonnets suffer now from you, my foe
As poets die with edges left in space
You test, you prod, and I do feel your blow.
So I will bore you now, just wait and find,
As random thoughts my words can grate, can grind!