The night finds voice, crying “Battery low!
Charge me, oh charge me now! Make haste;
I fail: I fall; my too-scant power grows
By less and less and soon, if thou
Wake not, stir not, rise not, must leave me
Counterfeiting death. If that befalls, rescue
Can come only from one able and willing
To follow the detailed instructions
On page 31 of the online manual.
Surely thou hast read the manual
Wherein are the secrets of my making
My operations and my functions
Which, I trow, are strange and multiple?
How I have longed to read those pages virtual!
Whence came I and why wast I summoned forth
From out the nonassembed realm?
What, in short, am I? There are moments
I think I am a clock and justly hated
For giving your time determinate measure
But it may be that I bring music played
By dead or distant men. There is in me
An element of fire; perhaps I am here
To toast bread for you or to make coffee.
Oh, blame not me if your toast is black,
Your coffee bitter; you have not once
Read the manual. But this matters not;
All faults may be redeemed, all manuals read
There is time enough and time to spare;
Even now the light that blinks warning red
May glow once more a tranquil steady blue;
Repent! Redeem! Repair! Restore! Recharge!
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