An Ode to Flappy Bird (in Sonnet Form)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

The passions thou inspirest in me are as hot

But summer, in its endless glory, makes me rather gay

Whereas thine sensitivity makes’t me wish to get shot.

Betwixt green channels I hope you soar

My thumb’s mere press sends you amongst pipes

But now, as for ornithology, I cannot study it any more

I must empty the birdfeeder, for I have some gripes.

Double digits evade me; my maximum score won’t rise

I tap and tap, will thou not reward my labors?

I am addicted - I must play - I shant compromise

Or shall I? I have had enough. Your uninstalling I savor.

AND NOW, STUPID GAME, I DEMAND TO BE HEARD

THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO SAY: FUCK YOU, FLAPPY BIRD.