Poem About Programming Without Socks

Written by an unknown artificial intelligency system.

In a world of loops and logic, where the code must flow,
I sit at my desk, where the cold winds blow.
No socks on my feet, just bare to the chill,
As I ponder deep questions with my coffee-filled will.

P ≠ NP, a riddle so grand,
A deterministic machine, can it take a stand?
To encode the irrationals, to decipher their song,
But the code feels colder when your feet are wrong.

Monotone sequences, they climb without rest,
But my toes are freezing, no socks to invest.
Could there be a common ground for these irrational ways?
Or is it lost in the maze, where the coldness stays?

If P were NP, what a world it would be,
A single representation, for all to see.
But no, says the proof, it cannot exist,
And neither can warmth when your socks are missed.

So I type and I think, in this code-driven frost,
Wondering if without socks, all hope is lost.
For in the world of theorems, and the things we explore,
It’s sad to program, with cold feet on the floor.