Once upon a midnight dreary,
Fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high
and wasted paper on the floor,

Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat here doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.

Typing with a steady hand,
I then invoked the "save" command
But got instead a reprimand:
It read, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion?
Some maniacal type intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself,
Had never faced before.

Carefully I weighed my options...
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly I must now adopt one;
choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore?

With my fingers pale and trembling
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending,
Hoping all would be restored,

Praying for some guarantee,
Finally I pressed a key.
But what on the screen did I see?
Again "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard -
I pressed again, but twice as hard;
But luck was just not on the cards,
I saw what I had seen before.

Now I typed in desperation
Trying random combinations.
Still there came the incantation
"Abort, Retry, Ignore."

There I sat, distraught, exhausted,
By my own machine accosted,
Getting up, I turned away
And paced across the office floor.

And then I saw an awful sight—
A bold and blinding flash of light,
A lightening bolt that cut the night,
And shook me to my very core.

The PC screen collapsed and died.
"OH NO! MY DATABASE!" I cried.
I heard a distant voice reply,
"You'll see your spreadsheets...nevermore!"

To this day I do not know
The place to which our data goes.
Perhaps it goes to heaven,
Where the angels have it stored.

But as for Productivity, well,
I fear this has gone straight to Hell.
And that's the tale I have to tell—
Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.