Smooth paper lay up on the desk.

My thoughts were odd, but not grotesque.

Will robots take what I do write,

extracting words both day and night?

The robot came with stealth today.

It took my thoughts and words away.

The words were mine with reas’ning clear.

I asked myself, “What’s hap’ning here?”

The robot comes with guile and theft.

When words are stripped, what then is left?

It takes what others’ work has grown.

Has often reaped, but never sown.

Don’t tell me now there is no chance.

My gaze is fixed, no way askance.

My apprehension grows each time

I see a robot pose a rhyme.