incy wincy spiderfella wove his magic web
sold-out to a Silicon
a Prophet for the plebs
told all the little people
the world was not the place
for human-kind to flourish
but they could interface
so everything's made easy
and where problems might have been
their inner-space is infinite
once inside the screen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem