Self-Replication Poem by Patti Masterman

Self-replication; we do it all day
In the most mindless abstract ways,
We copy our feelings, and ditto, our words,
Never stopping to think, it's absurd:
Self-replication, till their eyes cross,
Cause self-replicating makes us feel boss,
But think of a world, chock full of copies
Till it cracks wide open, right at the seams;
Everything would have been heard once already,
Used up, until there was left no more meaning.