Praise the human voice at the end of the tree
of options, saying let me look at that for you.
Praise the pause that means real typing.
Praise the sentence that begins with okay, I see what happened.
You are underpaid and lightly hated
by everyone who reaches you at their worst,
and you have fixed, today, four hundred small disasters
that would have ruined four hundred separate evenings.
Nobody writes odes for this.
Consider it written.
This a fake test poem created by First Verse - it will be deleted at launch
