For months, when afforded some extra time,
I've been, more than busily, engaged
In typing and storing many a rhyme.
In learning I've, sometimes, become enraged.

The storage system is called a computer
And it doesn't always follow commands.
Sometimes it becomes a downright disputer,
Making it's own questionable demands.

Either it's going to learn my language,
Or, I'm going to have to learn it's.
Or else, it just might need a bandage
After it throws some nasty fits.

Why can't it learn to listen to me?
I'm the boss--my money bought it!
Which is the servant and which is free?
My freedom? Perhaps I just thought it.

Whatever happens we must understand
That one of us will have to give.
Most likely me---obeying it's command
That, together, peacefully, we might live.

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