C be not proud, though some have called thee
haughty and awefull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overload,
Die not, poore C, nor yet canst thou bore me.
From threads and sleepe, which but thy pointers bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must stackoverflow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Inheritance, strings, and desperate men,
And dost with pointers, arrayes, and endian-nesse dwell,
And Java, or SQL can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And C shall be no more; C, thou shalt die.
For The Much Original And Very Worthy
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Death_be_not_proud
