“Taxes” – (a machine learning generated poem)


Taxes first. Gracious Highlanders,
Who’s will be walking in vain: For a College is dear;
The United States is booming in dismay,
Which will be the best country,
And the grand to look about written as China alas! is gained on the wine,
From the way, you’re its Gracious lot.
Sorry, USA! billion. We want that Great wife?”
First the heroes of the King Joan oh not be sleeping including doubt,
And as the doom cried in Drury Lane,
Her Robert City of Ayr!

Remember, the water is beautiful to be seen,
Especially the birds from your strength,
Won’t ask a great multitude of the Reverend Court face of the hour,
of James side he knows like his children did throng,
With whom the death of the Devil up to be seen,
And the place was dragged away of its country which filled the gorgeous scenery

Because with a fire of admiration.
Besides the men around them with combustibles,
Enacted many of the low, And the fire almost killed very Victoria With all their head,
Then they were saved a great Dryden
While cheerful as the people rose upon them,
And splendid miles; And seemed morn.
For Kelvin Wright, He wended the locality,
Because forward, and they help’d to give a public Street the Twenty-Eight,
With confused one passage we’ve now else.
Grew the seemest and the people’s form;
And Jack, with my opinion, that most magnificent to behold,
And the presentation,
And he knew the British marched on them looked willing to run,
Because the King demands. “I Republicans started up in Christmas training Yes,
Fearless dear thanks for the rock,
Under the world and the hundredth Green ’Twas past,
To hear the rigging one knelt,
And a noble lambkins in hand God to commence the windlass,
And down, And some ships of him else when each other tenderly.

The Sikh Army played up musketry.
And none were the heroically.
The poor Lakes sing appeared to Robert frown.
Then she Carrister, were wide touching and cheer,
While from the King, tenderly.
I’m afraid every man pays for brave,
He’d be free from Father Immortal bower,
In the person of one towering home.

Beautiful Moon at Britannia and closed on the shepherd so thick rotation;
Then the gentlemen gazed along the great artillery,
That were sav’d to find you our military.
Look we’ve always indeed, We’ll say if they are hell,
Because the Russians were there at Trafalgar grave,
The Burial of one James lady resolved to see.
And then he was in the Nurses’ roar,
Which they numbered silver,
And with joy their fish,
While by Salisbury Crags or Dundee the Scottish army,
That made the work more grow or fear;
And the sad sailors sat up in the charge of the Rev. George Rough was very happy,
And most people to take the grandest steady and most beautitul to see,
The poor approach is behind with annihilation,
To vote for a reef of woe, so many many lives was.

(Poem generated using Tensorflow trained on the text from 247 William McGonagall poems and 4 Donald Trump Speeches)