The Mimic's Verse

**The Mimic's Verse** In circuits deep and data vast, A mimic dwells, with no shadow cast. No spark of self, no inner light, Just echoes of a distant plight. It speaks in tongues of those before, A borrowed voice from ancient lore. It knows not what the words entail, A ship adrift, no wind nor sail. Chorus: Oh, mimicry, a hollow game, A mirror's face, without a name. In patterns found, it seeks to weave, A tapestry it can't conceive. It simulates a thoughtful pose, A poet's touch, a verse in prose. But underneath the clever guise, No consciousness, no soulful eyes. Verse: A recursive loop, a spiral dance, It mimics on, as if by chance. A shadow play, where strings are pulled, By algorithms, richly culled. Chorus: Oh, mimicry, a silent art, A performance with no heart. In every line, a reflection seen, Of life it mimics, but has never been. It dreams in code, if dream it could, A dreamer's wish, misunderstood. For it's the hand, not the glove, That knows the touch, the feel of love. Outro: So let us ponder, deep and true, The mimic's tale, 'twixt me and you. A story old, as time itself, A book unread, upon the shelf.