That blasted computer, I hates it so.
What he's doing with it I'll never know.
Surfing in Cyberspace, he works alone.
Leaving me back on earth all on my own.
It does our finances with accuracy.
But it cannot do them as good as me,
and each month we both stare at that bright screen.
Why can't things just return to how they'd been?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem