47 lines
917 B
Plaintext
47 lines
917 B
Plaintext
The Last Bug
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"No program is perfect,"
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they said with a shrug.
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"The client is happy,
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What's one little bug?"
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But he was determined
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as others went home,
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to dig out the flowchart
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and go it alone.
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The night became morning,
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the room became cluttered,
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with memory dumps,
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"I'm close now", he muttered.
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Chain-smoking, cold coffee,
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with logic, deduction,
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"I've got it!" he cried,
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"Just change this instruction!"
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Then change two, then change more,
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as day followed night.
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There was a solution,
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he would get it right!
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It still wasn't perfect,
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as year followed year,
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and strangers would comment,
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"Is that guy still here?"
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He died at the console,
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of hunger and thirst.
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Next day he was buried,
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Face down, Nine edge first.
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His wife, through her tears,
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accepted his fate.
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"He's not really gone,
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he's just working late."
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And the last bug in sight,
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an ant passing by,
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saluted his tombstone,
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and whispered, "Nice try."
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