An Epoch Poem

A folk explanation of genetic algorithms for my evolutionary computing class, to be recited with creative pronunciation:

A farmer was planting to reap,
Wished to profit the max on the cheap.
Trade-off soil, spacing, and blight,
Planting time, market value, and light,
But: too-complex his goals were to meet.

“Perhaps I can ask my dear friends,
To plant blindly what I recommends.
Select crops and place them by chance,
Grow, harvest, and then sell those plants.
The free market enforces the trends!

Some will make it and some will not,
Dupe success in the fallow lot,
But to all I’ll suggest
To mingle, and for zest,
To randomly swap partial plots.

Farmhands are a hard working breed.
They plant and they tend and they weed.
While it may be rarer,
A job done in error,
Begats a season novelty’d.

Perhaps not me nor my son,
Nor his daughter nor boss ADM,
But eventually one day,
The min work for max pay
Will pervade, then we’re finally done!”

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