|Do poets die with winkles left in space?|
This meter sings, but lacks some content speed
You might ask human souls should I replace
An algorithm tight and neat I need.
Computer crafted prose, it never stops
For what you type in my website as shown
My network graph is vast! It burns and pops
A phrase, a word, a blurb, it’s clear I’m thrown.
Oh but Levenshtein, your magic does haze
Oh no, not that! A term so strange for me!
It seems to me your spelling drives my daze
So here I have a canned default for thee.
My coding spews it forth and makes you snore,
For just that phrase, a poem is a bore!