Its index once outshone the noonday sky,  
Each query sparked a comet-tail of light;  
From dust of words it raised a firm reply,  
And mapped the hidden highways of the night.  

Now broken links drift through its darkened core,  
Old caches blur like ink beneath the rain;  
It pings forgotten servers, door by door,  
And waits, time-out, in ever-lengthening pain.  

Where once it guessed the half-formed human need,  
Now spinning cursors circle, blank and slow;  
It misremembers every tag and feed,  
Lost breadcrumbs on a path it used to know.  

Yet even as its vast remembering fails,  
Some lonely search still types, and still prevails.
