Come lay you down
in a bed of ease,
A mattress of soft
computer keys.
The liquor of LED light
The flickering monitor of
altered sight.
The world out there makes it
hard to stand
Its splinters pierce
non-toughened hands.
The wind it blows too clear
and keen
And one can be too
easily seen.
The fan that cools the
chip just so
Is more than enough
your fever to slow
And if it’s not, well then,
is it wrong
To remain a frog
in a soon boiling
pond.
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