Like a sparrow's nest without mud, 

The robot crackles and shrieks 

on his tottery legs, he stumbles fast

Landing on the white ground

heaving, panting, sweating.

He was destined to be so

by the source of his life, the

factory who gave him brains 

without brawn, who was given skills

of critical analysis without

the opportunity to create work

himself. He had overdeveloped his  

higher faculties while neglecting his

most basic skills of original creation.