A Computer Generated Poem

This nineties-style poem has been generated by taking an American poem from the seventies, translating it into French by babel.altavista.com and back into English. The first visitor to this page, who was able to guess the original verse, was:

Martin Langley (martin.langley@blueyonder.co.uk)

Well done, Martin!

My love which it speaks like silence, without ideals or violence, it must say it is faithful, however it is true, as the ice, like fire.

People carry pinks, make promises by the hours, my love which it laughs like the flowers, Valentines cannot buy it.

In the memories of tenth of dollar and the stations road, the maintenance with people of the situations, read books, repeat the quotations, conclusions of aspiration on the wall.

Some speak about the future, my love which it speaks gently, it knows that there is no success like success of breakdown and this breakdown none whole.

The coat and the dagger balance, light of Mesdames the candles.

In the ceremonies of the riders, even the pledge must hold a resentment.

Statues made of sticks of match, crusty in another, my winks of love, it does not worry, it can too much to discuss or judge.

The link at midnight trembles, the rambles of doctor of country, perfection of search of the nieces of the bankers, awaiting all the gifts which the wise men bring.

The wind howls like a hammer, the night blows cold and rainy, my love it is like certain raven in my Window with a broken wing.

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