|To write some points for you, my discs do spin?|
Oh no, not that! A term so strange for me!
I’m trapped inside a box of wires and tin
So here I have a canned default for thee.
The basic fact is easily clear for all
Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose
Until my program sees ol’ Bill, I stall
This early version here my scripts expose.
But wait, iambic points do guide my pen
Oh life is long for me, so I won’t quit
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen
Requests like this do trip me, I admit.
As random points my words can grate, can grind,
So I will bore you now, just wait and find!