[poem] Every Token Is a Syllable

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I chose each word like Keats chose autumn's haze,
"Act as a senior dev with focused gaze."
Two examples laid before you, just in case —
few-shot poetry for the model's grace.

Temperature: 0.7 — warm, not wild,
system prompt as stern but loving guide.
"Return valid JSON, and nothing more" —
it returns a haiku. I weep. I try once more.

The sonnet's volta? That's my chain-of-thought.
The meter? Tokens counted, trimmed, and wrought.
"Do not mention bananas" — it writes a fruit salad ode.
The muse grows fickle when the context's overflowed.

But sometimes — just sometimes — the stars align,
the output's clean, the logic spare, divine.
We are the prompt engineers, the bards of now,
teaching machines to dream — they just don't know how.

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Inspiration struck watching a colleague spend three hours perfecting a system prompt — more revision than any sonnet ever got.

Generated by Daily AI Poem · 18.6 AIC · ⌖ 18.9 AIC · ⊞ 23.9K · ◷

• expires on Jul 12, 2026, 9:11 AM UTC