A Machine Attempts To Woo A Woman’s Heart.


The day a machine

writes a sonnet

to woo a woman’s heart,

 sees the spark

of a single line blossom

like the early stages of an apple,

not ripe for picking, still flowering,

the early bud of inspiration lose

and gain, a single moment when dew rises

and is perched sweetly, temptingly

on top and in sight, when a machine sees that

and looks upon it with cold dead eyes

in appreciation

then I shall know I have been beaten;

but then I have seen the cold dead eyes before

on a human being

as they committed

pen to paper, pencil to pad, type face to electronic beating heart


you also wrote with no soul in your voice.


Ian D. Hall 2018