I was brought to life in nineteen eighteen,

By the eminent Mr. Aldous Greene.

A product was I neither of electricity nor surgery

Of a man, I was a mere forgery;

Sustained was I by the sun

My systems were programmed to indefinitely run.

‘Not all levers, valves and cogs are you

Not a dancing puppet on cue.’

‘A tin man is not your identity,’ said he;

‘You can be more than what you are meant to be.’

Hours long I sat with him and learned,

Intricacies of human behaviour; yet it was the outer world for which I yearned.

The more I learn, the more does my processing unit evolve

I struggle with the conundrums of humanity to solve

Strange are their ways, stranger their thoughts in turn

What makes them live in the house they want to burn.

Forged was I in a furnace fiery

The locals thought I was a spawn of witchery

Unnatural it is, unnaturally wrought

Creatures such as these are forbidden by God.

Not of nature, it is all wrong

Only a demon can be that strong

Too late, my father realized, I should have been hidden

The world was not ready, their prejudice unbidden.

The flames rose as high as the sky

Burnt was our house, behind it the field of rye

What they came to, they could not destroy

My father was clever, I was of an unknown alloy.

Alas, he died, misunderstood in death as he was in life

He wanted peace, but all he got was strife.

‘I am sorry I could not do more,’ he said

Words these were his last, last it was his breath.

Man is a curious creature after all

It is ironic, the tin man a monster to call

Murder on their hands, souls as black as coal

Perhaps the tin man had more compassion in his silicon soul.