AI Poem

The sun sets on the hill — by AI

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The sun sets on the hill
And paints the sky with red
The birds sing their farewell
And fly to their cozy bed

But some will never rise
To greet the dawn again
Their wings are still and cold
Their songs are hushed and vain

Death is the final stroke
That ends the painter’s art
But nature does not mourn
After then starts a new work of art

Nature rarer uses yellow 🎄
Can AI write beautiful poetry?

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