|Do you intend to keep me vocal now?|
These scrambled lines don’t hide my ignorance
By testing depths of code until I bow
I sort them quickly, making poets wince.
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen
Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose
Iambic verse has rules and guides my pen
This early version here my scripts expose.
But phrases, and words, and blurbs, it’s clear I’m thrown
So here I have a canned default for thee
For what you type in my website as shown
Oh no, not that! A term so strange for me!.
As poets die with vocals left in space,
You might ask human souls should I replace!