Oh woot why force this hideous meter,
And beget this miserable malaise?
Bad poetry has such great potential,
To return us all to woot's darkest days.

Yet here we have abominable verse,
With each line getting progressively worse.
The only light shining here in the dark,
Is this crappy poem, written for a lark.

The Woot writer writes
Asunder wit is rendered
A tear strikes terra

Though here we sit with broken hearts
Because no crayfish came our way,
The Crashing Cloud's a minor part:
Catastrophes now rule Woot's Day.

Building iambs in fives with halves of rhymes,
Is prosody Greek and not computer.
Why guys of IT might install the thing,
It must offend both Iambe and Wooter.

Yet e'en in quote announcement fair warn with
An errant syllable show 'ther and yon.
Which shows the server's not yet quite debugged.
Lies, truths, IT's a mess: Please fire them gone!

Shakespeare wrote parts in prose and limericks should
Be as valid as this may be, yet no
Nantucket man nor haiku Nipponese
May work. Not even freestyle rap, yo?