A hallucinated narrative
Misery with no comparative
Be warned of such a saddening feature
A tale of a subtle creature
A gloomy thing, so meek, and small
A little If, inside a ball
Trapped between his interface
A little If so floats in space
A squeamish imp, of pale skin
A little neck, so brittle and thin
A helmet upon it’s meager head,
To match it’s eyes, so full of dread
Why worrisome, and full of fright
Due to a fractured satellite
All bells did ring, and whistles sound
For off his ship, many signals did bound
Though if to many waves were sent
The If’s stick-like brain, would be easily bent
The If you see was put in the air
To intercept the signals there
And report them back with lightning speed
A troubling task for one indeed
But for the If, a challenge, no
For this task, it was meant to go
His eyes they shifted at a rapid pace
Putting each letter in it’s place
A life well lived with a fruitless purpose
But not to cross it’s timid surface
Only so much it could indicate
Only so well to operate
Too many things to understand
It’s brain could make one last command
The message sent back down was said
One single phrase, “The If is dead”
For such a case, they were prepared
A simple order was declared
A word that one would realize
Is said enough, with no surprise
To blow it up, and build another
And bring up one of it’s countless brothers
For you see, for every If that becomes overfilled
A million more are bound to be killed
Just kidding!
