Programmers are the new age Necromancers
At a keyboard and screen, for aeons, they tap away
With the finesse and precession of tap dancers
They converse patiently with the cold and lifeless machine
With the love and care the rest of us reserve only for children
Filled with bewildering communiques is their lifelong dream
Their eyes dart back and forth in a room full of people
Hoping to avoid the gaze that leads to a conversation
In a church, at mass time, you’ll find them in the steeple
They are the toy makers of our current times
That provide your life with leisure and joy
To them is their code, as to us, our rhymes