Eleven

Just a poem. But I don't know why I write these things, you may want to ask Bill Gates.

Eleven

Ten times, I can tell

None of them did go well

Five times, I went to hell,

Other five, just to heaven

But in every time, I go

Way up high, or below

I could not really know

What was wrong with Seven?

Now we wait for Mr. Gates

Bill, in the United States

For the friggin updates

Of his number Eleven