The Poetry Trial
  

Years were passing
Beginning with a full head of brown hair
Bald now scant gray hairs over his ears
Sitting afront the screen
Tirelessly typing in poems
All this time thinking that he communicated with other people
Little did he know
The whole operation was a scam
Run by the leprechauns
That's right  The little folk
All the feedback he thought was real
Was just a ruse set up by the faeries
A hyper-sensitive software system
Serving up canned responses from
Pre-programmed poets
Digital and centuries old.