Slow

It is slow and ponderous
An elephant among leprechauns
Not pretty, not amorphous.
I would say its day has come and gone
Would I be half right?
I don't think I would be wrong
To say this, yet I feel bad.
It isn't totally useless,
Just because it is old.
It is the mechanism of printing
Out the things I need,
Patterns, poetry, random stuff.
I can hear the hard drive struggling along,
And the light telling me just
How busy it is remains a constant.
He (or she) cannot load some things,
Yet, I feel vaguely guilty for plotting
The assassination of the old computer.