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Perhaps there’s nothing worse
Than toiling to rhyme verse
For hours and hours; to slave,
Then carefully to save
It to external drive
Which then takes a swan dive;
Surrenders all its digits,
Its cookies and its widgets.

My short-term memory
Is just a memory,
And so I can’t recall
Those words I wrote – at all.
Oh well, it is a pity
I’ve lost that little ditty
But since it’s surely dead,
I’m heading off to bed.

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