Young April hushed the convent door. Tell them I have gladly gone twirled by the wind with a song of bliss. My pass a passion ticket spent swelled in the last wave of the night playful at the waterline. Ere I crept to other men, spirits of the air that ring, girdled with dust of cake and cup. Some were the ache of autumn nights, shaken as roses for my late delight. Every lover I could be; but I put no love on the marriage tree.
For his ‘MTB Artificially‘ prompt, Bjorn asks us to experiment with some AI generated poetry combined with some of our own words. This was written by the author, inspired by Teasdale, Lowell, and Emerson and composed in Verse by Verse. I am rather pleased that AI has not proven poetically worthwhile after all!
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