Yahoo! Mail Sucks

One fine morning, much to my chagrin...

(The skies were blue, the sun was bright,
And as I thought all would be right,
And typed in my password on Yahoo! Mail,
Oblivious of the impending hail
That was soon to kill the weather still,
As if Virtual Nature had swallowed a pill
That corroded its insides into total rot,
Reducing its faculties to utter naught)
In red appeared an audacious suggestion,
Followed soon by an unnerving question:
I had been remiss in typing my password;
Would I like to try again? That byword,
The one I’ve now forgotten, came to mind.
If I’d remembered it I would have been kind
Enough to mention it here. Idiocy, it said,
Or something of the sort, made one dead,
And that if Yahoo! Mail had failed to read
The password I’d entered at such low speed,
It was manifestly not the “best web-based” mail:
It was probably bought at an old garage sale,
And given the false appearance of being new
And cool and what not, so that people construed
Its innumerable glitches as a transient phase:
The result of being the whole world’s craze –
Supposedly the most preferred email server
That was fated to capture hearts forever –
Even though in reality it was nothing great,
The only one of its mentionable traits
Being the fact that it was the best web-based mail,
But only if your intention was to curtail
Your Internet time, and to abstain from reading
Any emails you might have received from grieving
Relatives, who also used Yahoo! Mail and wondered,
Their hearts and mind all but torn asunder,
Why on earth they failed to get through
To their mail despite their memories being true
To them. Had they lost touch with the world?
Was it time to call it a day and return to bed, curled
Up with a hand-written letter from those good old days,
When Yahoo! meant someone jumped into the bay,
When sending an email didn’t mean typing in
Passwords that would not be recognized again?

So, as I was saying, before that little digression,
One fine morning, I was haunted by the question:
Should I use my Gmail or my Hotmail account
To send those mails? On both I could count
To deliver satisfaction and the letter;
On both I could count for worse or for better.

But
I heard a whisper the other day, about a hut
In which lived an old hermit who had gotten
Fame by creating one of those old, rotten
Devices that were used to open vegetable cans.
And although he was merely the garbage man,
Others called his toy “Yahoo! Mail”, and used it,
And used it despite its glitches; but I refused it.
And now when I think back to those days,
When as a foolish youth, I’d got lost in the maze
Of irrational whims, and had made the mistake
Of creating an account that was soon to forsake
Me, mock me, and then silently grin…
That is the cause for my chagrin.