[With apologies to Lewis Carroll]
“You are old,” said the smartphone, “and your software’s so slow
That a cuppa can be brewed while it’s loading.
My apps zip along
And can be had for a song.
I hope you’ll forgive me for goading.”
“It matters quite little,” the desktop replied,
“When updates become unavailable.
Though apps overblown
My CPU have outgrown,
The old ones remain unassailable.”
“You are old,” said the smartphone, “and your hard disk is full
Of photos your owner has forgotten.
If you took just a day
To throw some away,
The rest would be looked at more often.”
“In my youth,” said the desktop, “photos were treasured
And printed for all to see.
Now we have such a horde
That in the cloud they must be stored.
The blame for it lies not with me.”
“You are old,” the phone persisted, “and I beg to affirm
That you’ve come to the end of your reign.
A lump so static
Should be consigned to the attic
For the tablet your heritage to claim.”
“Enough is enough,” the desktop exclaimed, “I’ll hear no more talk of heirs.
Your battery makes you greedier
For fake news and social media.
Log off, or I’ll throw you downstairs.”