In days of yore
(Actually two years shy of three score)
Was a family by name of Gore.
Being good citizens of Tennessee
They practiced a 'method' of control, you see.
They had no interest in procreation
Enough was enough, for the nation.
The method was one sanctioned by the Church
That prevented mistakes in a lurch.
But in a moment of fever
Mistakes happen; whatever.
So was born a new son
One destined to remind everyone.
That Algorithms don't work.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem