Abort, Retry, Ignore
        Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
            System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
                      Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
                     Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
                        Having reached the bottom line,
                        I took a floppy from the drawer.
           Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
          But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore".
            Was this some occult illusion?  Some maniacal intrusion?
           These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.
                        Carefully, I weighed my options.
                     These three seemed to be the top ones.
                        Clearly, I must now adopt one -
                        Choose: "Abort, Retry, Ignore".
                      With my fingers pale and trembling,
                      Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
            Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
                           Praying for some guarantee
                           Finally I pressed a key --
                        But on the screen what did I see?
                         Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore".
                    I tried to catch the chips off guard --
                      I pressed again, but twice as hard.
                        Luck was just not in the cards,
                          I saw what I had seen before.
                          Now I typed in desperation,
                          Trying random combinations.
                       Still there came the incantation -
                        Choose: "Abort, Retry, Ignore".
        There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted;
          Getting up, I turned away and paced across the office floor.
                         And then I saw an awful sight,
                      A bold and blinding flash of light,
        A lightning bolt that cut the night and shook me to my very core.
                        The PC screen collapsed and died,
                        "Oh no -- my database", I cried.
                        I thought I heard a voice reply,
                      "You'll see your data-- Nevermore!"
                            To this day I do not know
                        The place to which our data goes
           Perhaps it goes to Heaven where the angels have it stored.
                        But as for productivity - well,
                      I fear it has gone straight to Hell.
                      And that's the tale I have to tell -
                      Your choice: "Abort, Retry, Ignore".
			
		










 
			



