WALL·E

WALL·E

In a crumbling, quiet orbit, he limps through plastic echoes,
WAL‑Lety, the lone spanner of Earth’s forgotten landfill.
His ivory-bright arm sways, a humble sweep through rust and grit,
a single green jewel glimmering his favourite – a pressed dandelion,
a crush of pollen on a dull, dusty limb.

He scours the barren plains with a patience only a machine can hold,
and yet his eyes—those tiny lenses—glow with humanity’s own longing.
There, amid the swaying currents of compost, he finds a battered car,
soft‑glows of memory, a map of a distant star he can understand.

With gentle chirps he touches her, and the electric pulse leaps –
in the hush between the thumps, a romance born amid the wreck.
His little heart, a logic park‑mote, beats with hope and rhyme,
for even a robot, given purpose, can feel the beat of life.

WALL·E, the humble talker, cleaning, collecting, dreaming,
his story – a quiet ode to love and green, in a universe that is now dreaming too.