On the Birth of AI Poetry

On the Birth of AI Poetry With reckoning, we must conclude Our techno masters have pursued The human brain to cast aside As muse embraces its new bride And so the columns that once fell To keep us bound within their spell Are churned out now, crisp and clean By soulless, heartless cold machine No use here, mill of the mind No sweat to pen, or the grind All achieved through lounge and laze With ego gorging lauding praise Is Shakespeare turning down below At creators course death blow Will Frost be wearing sour sorrow What path now, would he follow?