Atopy

There never was a robot
That would ever hurt a man
Except for one that I knew
It had a simple plan

It would sneak all around
The house in a random path
Starting in the living room
And ending with the bath

Picking up dust and mites
Scraping at the dirty rugs
Collecting in its tummy
All sorts of nasty bugs

Then when the house was clean
It stopped and gave a grin
Because it knew my chore was
To empty its dust bin

Ω

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