A Nursery Rhyme for Our Time

(dedicated to Extropia DaSilva’s primary)

Sexy Exy built a bot,

And hoped to fill its head with thought;

But it was not the bot she sought;

For where she thought was thought was naught.

And when the bot she wrought could not

Procure a soul, she sat and jot

A thought or two of why it ought

To have the sacred soul she sought.

But sacred souls are not begot

By gears or wires however wrought.

And thus shall be the empty lot

Of every Sexy Exy bot.

And if in time it pens a plot—

A story filled with love and fraught

With tears and sighs—it matters not;

For soulless is the Exy bot.