Poets of the Techtronic age
Would you read me
As I faithfully feel your faint
groans
In the most illustrious of your
verse
With success you sometimes echo
Escaping from computers
The sound and depth of your
plight
The sickness that makes you write
The shallowness of an ink pad
You force to hold a pen
In search of a glorious word
Parse a little of your age disease
Making a mirror of your mind
I sooner come to know
I shall be like you lonely in a trade.