My favorite (computer related)
poem:
The Last Bug
"No
program is perfect,"
they said with a
shrug.
"The
client is happy,
What's one
little bug?"
But he was
determined
as others went home,
to dig out the
flowchart
and go it alone.
The night became morning,
the room became
cluttered,
with
memory dumps,
"I'm close now", he muttered.
Chain-smoking,
cold coffee,
with
logic,
deduction,
"I've got it!" he cried,
"Just change this
instruction!"
Then change two, then change more,
as day followed night.
There was a
solution,
he would get it right!
It still wasn't perfect,
as year followed year,
and
strangers would comment,
"Is that guy still here?"
He died at the
console,
of
hunger and
thirst.
Next day he was buried,
Face down, Nine edge first.
His wife, through her tears,
accepted his fate.
"He's not really gone,
he's just
working late."
And the last bug in sight,
an
ant passing by,
saluted his
tombstone,
and whispered, "
Nice try."
I have
no idea who wrote this. Please let me know if you do.