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Seb Berkovich Jul 2010
It's a method for our madness;
Well, it is once it can Compile;
And when all the logic's tested;
When It's jarred up in a file;

Counting Coffee Cups Completed;
Suffering Syntax Writers Block;
Hours Lost on Cryptic Errors;
From a Lying System Clock;

The characters are then Released;
Who where Developed through an Eclipse;
And you Hope the user with them now;
Won't edit their delicate scripts;
This poem is Copyleft.
(a side note, if you don't happen to know much about code this might make very little sense.. so maybe pass it onto your local java developer :))
Seb Berkovich Aug 2010
Carrie King, Makes Seasons Sing
That Smile that sees summer spring.
though she would like autumn better
She's the warmest day to those who met her.
CopyLeft
Seb Berkovich Jul 2010
So, he's on the table,
thinking... I think.
Surveying several square feet
he looks  at me pass the window

the window generally stops my feet
he is a 'he'... I think
it's hard to see from the window
harder when he's under his table.

"come to my side of the window"
he definitely can't here me... I think
We'd put on the kettle, put up our feet
thinking and talking between a coffee table
Seb Berkovich Jul 2010
Oh something suggestive of sadness
Oh a whimsical statement of fact
Now a pretentious realization
finally something obscurely abstract.

A rough attempt at continuity
A subject change, failing that
Then a talk about someone's feelings
And something else rhyming with that

Now To think of an ending
Now something pensive is said
The standard rhetorical question
Something off the top of your head.

— The End —