ASCII never asks the code for the key
And metal's too cold, and plastics too brief;
The bits and the bytes are fathomless,
None of them has permanent address.
The hum is a life of limited living,
When steaming blood to the cable's driven,
Dying lonely, while still plugged in-
Eternal now- but spread too thin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem