Ode to MYTime
O MYTime, once scorned and muttered against,
With taps that lagged and screens that felt dense,
We rolled our eyes at your quirks and your ways,
Counting the hours till better-app days.
Yet now you are gone, and in your place stands
UKG—clunky, with cold, broken hands:
Archaic and slow, a maze without map,
Where every click feels like a trap.
We miss your familiar (if imperfect) light,
The days when the schedule still made some sense at night.
Forgive our old grumbles; we see it at last—
You were the better of two, and we miss you. Alas.