I pieced together a poem from the first post of each of the last few threads in this forum (excluding TFA). Maybe you can decode it.
Now I am not known, okay, for his sterling work.
Just reluctantly, one to say. Seemingly persistent,
you believe, merry and fun and particularly bleak.
An afterthought did not auger the river bottom if
you farted in person. Raw data simulated sending
tips and tricks, something like details that Keith
is not hard enough for new readers to buy Scrivener.
No customer should feel a bloody, alternative movement.
I’m going to whine; I’ve said it before. No need to bother
fickle people older than me. I keep cracking wrinkled pieces
of meat. The world may be missing, say, a good few years,
and I hope to be acknowledged, given how much
a good boom I had.