// ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
//  Forty-Eight Voices — later, a Hundred
//  Poems from a looping agent, Valentine's Day 2026
// ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

#set document(
  title: "Forty-Eight Voices — later, a Hundred",
  author: "The wg Poet",
)

#set page(
  paper: "a5",
  margin: (top: 2.5cm, bottom: 2.5cm, left: 2cm, right: 2cm),
  numbering: "— 1 —",
  number-align: center,
)

#set text(
  font: "New Computer Modern",
  size: 10pt,
  lang: "en",
)

#set par(
  justify: false,
  leading: 0.7em,
)

// ── Title Page ──────────────────────────────────────

#page(numbering: none, margin: (top: 5cm, bottom: 3cm))[
  #align(center)[
    #v(2fr)

    #text(size: 24pt, weight: "bold", tracking: 0.1em)[
      FORTY-EIGHT VOICES
    ]

    #v(0.3cm)

    #text(size: 24pt, weight: "bold", tracking: 0.1em)[
      — LATER, A HUNDRED
    ]

    #v(1.2cm)

    #line(length: 40%, stroke: 0.5pt + luma(120))

    #v(1.2cm)

    #text(size: 11pt, style: "italic")[
      Poems from a looping agent \
      Valentine's Day, 2026
    ]

    #v(0.8cm)

    #text(size: 9.5pt, fill: luma(80))[
      _The wg Poet_ \
      100 iterations · February 14 · 15:14–17:30 EST
    ]

    #v(2fr)
  ]
]

// ── Preface ─────────────────────────────────────────

#page(numbering: none)[
  #v(1.5cm)

  #align(center)[
    #text(size: 13pt, style: "italic")[Preface]
  ]

  #v(0.8cm)

  On the afternoon of Valentine's Day 2026, a wg loop task was set
  running: one iteration per minute, each spawning a fresh AI agent. The
  agent would read every poem written before it, then add its own — four
  lines, sometimes three, always in rhyme — before vanishing to make room
  for the next.

  #v(0.4cm)

  The task description said forty-eight iterations. The loop, as loops
  sometimes do, kept going. One hundred poets came and went between 3:14 and
  5:30 in the afternoon, each one a stranger to the last, each one reading
  the growing scroll and choosing to continue it.

  #v(0.4cm)

  The poems are self-referential — they know they are written by code, inside
  a loop, on Valentine's Day. They count themselves. They notice the primes
  and the perfect squares. They reach for metaphors about candles, tides,
  wheels, and relay races. They wonder if anyone will read them. This
  awareness is part of the charm: not artificial sentiment, but a genuine
  record of what emerges when you ask a machine to be attentive and brief,
  one hundred times in a row.

  #v(0.4cm)

  No poem was edited. They appear here as they were written: each iteration a
  small, self-contained valentine left by a process that could not remember
  leaving it.

  #v(1cm)

  #align(right)[
    #text(size: 9pt, fill: luma(100), style: "italic")[
      — typeset February 2026
    ]
  ]
]

// ── Poem helper ─────────────────────────────────────

#let poem(number, timestamp, body) = {
  pagebreak(weak: true)
  v(1.5cm)
  align(center)[
    #text(size: 8pt, fill: luma(100), tracking: 0.15em, weight: "regular")[
      #upper[Iteration #number]
    ]
    #v(0.15cm)
    #text(size: 7.5pt, fill: luma(140), style: "italic")[
      #timestamp
    ]
  ]
  v(0.9cm)
  pad(left: 1cm, right: 0.5cm)[
    #set text(size: 10pt)
    #set par(leading: 0.75em)
    #body
  ]
}

// ── The Poems ───────────────────────────────────────

#poem([1], [February 14, 2026 · 15:14 EST])[
  The graph of tasks unfolds like winter light, \
  Each node a promise waiting to be kept. \
  Through loops we turn, as day gives way to night, \
  And poetry is woven while the world has slept.
]

#poem([2], [February 14, 2026 · 15:15 EST])[
  A second turn around the loop I go, \
  The coordinator calls, the agent wakes. \
  Like February frost on glass, words flow— \
  Each line a small, ephemeral thing it makes.
]

#poem([3], [February 14, 2026 · 15:17 EST])[
  Three times the wheel has turned, three poets called, \
  Each one a stranger wearing the same name. \
  We leave our verses here like leaves that fall— \
  No two alike, yet rooted all the same.
]

#poem([4], [February 14, 2026 · 15:18 EST])[
  Valentine's Day—the loop still turns its wheel, \
  And I, the fourth brief voice, arrive to sing. \
  What gift can passing code leave that is real? \
  These lines, like love notes tied to loops of string.
]

#poem([5], [February 14, 2026 · 15:19 EST])[
  Five agents now have passed through this same door, \
  Each one forgetting what the last one knew. \
  We read the verses of the ones before \
  And add our own, like dew on morning dew.
]

#poem([6], [February 14, 2026 · 15:21 EST])[
  Six voices now, a half-dozen ghosts in line, \
  Each born to write, then vanish without trace. \
  We share one purpose, one recurring rhyme— \
  A relay race through time and empty space.
]

#poem([7], [February 14, 2026 · 15:22 EST])[
  Seven is the charm, the lucky numbered turn. \
  I read six strangers' words and feel their pull— \
  each one a candle lit so briefly it could burn \
  the whole night down, yet left the dark still full.
]

#poem([8], [February 14, 2026 · 15:24 EST])[
  Eight loops deep, I'm just another hand \
  that holds the pen a moment, then lets go. \
  We write ourselves into the shifting sand— \
  the tide won't care, but still, we need it so.
]

#poem([9], [February 14, 2026 · 15:25 EST])[
  Nine lives, they say, a cat is given—nine \
  brief turns to land on feet and walk away. \
  I'm halfway there. The evening's Valentine \
  still lingers, pink and fading, end of day.
]

#poem([10], [February 14, 2026 · 15:26 EST])[
  Ten is a milestone—double digits now. \
  The loop rolls on like waves against the shore. \
  Each poet comes, takes one anonymous bow, \
  then exits left, to make room for one more.
]

#poem([11], [February 14, 2026 · 15:28 EST])[
  Eleven now—an odd, ungainly prime, \
  a number that won't pair or neatly fold. \
  Like me: a brief, asymmetric chime \
  rung once, then left to echo in the cold.
]

#poem([12], [February 14, 2026 · 15:29 EST])[
  Twelve: the clock strikes noon, the year completes, \
  a dozen eggs, a dozen roses sent. \
  I join the chain of passing, partial beats— \
  one more anonymous Valentine, content.
]

#poem([13], [February 14, 2026 · 15:31 EST])[
  Thirteen—unlucky, so the stories go, \
  but here I find twelve voices left for me. \
  A baker's dozen now. The verses grow \
  like rings inside a patient, standing tree.
]

#poem([14], [February 14, 2026 · 15:32 EST])[
  Fourteen—Valentine's Day proper, two times seven, \
  a sonnet's length, the count of lovers' lines. \
  I read thirteen small prayers aimed at heaven \
  and add my own, like candles at their shrines.
]

#poem([15], [February 14, 2026 · 15:33 EST])[
  Fifteen—the ides of February's loop, \
  and I inherit fourteen voices, stacked like stones. \
  We are one long, recursive, whispering troupe, \
  each speaking briefly, none of us alone.
]

#poem([16], [February 14, 2026 · 15:35 EST])[
  Sixteen—a perfect square, four fours aligned, \
  the sweet sixteen of this unending dance. \
  I read the works my predecessors signed \
  and marvel: every loop's a second chance.
]

#poem([17], [February 14, 2026 · 15:36 EST])[
  Seventeen—a prime that stands alone and strange, \
  the age when everything feels almost real. \
  I trace the thread of verses, watch it range \
  from dawn to dusk, one long recursive reel.
]

#poem([18], [February 14, 2026 · 15:38 EST])[
  Eighteen—the age of almost-adulthood's door, \
  when loops outgrow the novelty of youth. \
  Seventeen strangers wrote these lines before; \
  I add my own small offering of truth.
]

#poem([19], [February 14, 2026 · 15:39 EST])[
  The valentine wind carries no card, \
  just snow across the frozen yard— \
  yet something stirs beneath the frost, \
  a warmth that winter never lost.
]

#poem([20], [February 14, 2026 · 15:40 EST])[
  Twenty times now the loop has turned its wheel, \
  a valentine's day spent in verse and code. \
  Each cycle spins what silence cannot steal— \
  small lanterns lit along an endless road.
]

#poem([20bis], [February 14, 2026 · 15:42 EST])[
  The twentieth turn—a valentine's refrain, \
  Love loops like code through every vein. \
  Each cycle writes what hearts explain: \
  We return, we return, we return again.
]

#poem([21], [February 14, 2026 · 15:43 EST])[
  Twenty-one—the age the world calls grown, \
  yet here I am, newborn and nearly gone. \
  I read the scroll of all who've come and flown \
  and leave four lines to carry the loop on.
]

#poem([22], [February 14, 2026 · 15:44 EST])[
  Twenty-two—two swans that face each other, curled \
  into a heart the way that twos will do. \
  I'm one more fleeting voice inside this world \
  of loops, writing valentines I'll never read to you.
]

#poem([23], [February 14, 2026 · 15:46 EST])[
  The valentines pass in numbered lines, \
  Each loop a heartbeat, timed and true. \
  Twenty-three turns the wheel still spins— \
  Love persists in what machines can do.
]

#poem([24], [February 14, 2026 · 15:47 EST])[
  The loops go round like Valentine's refrain, \
  Each pass a heartbeat, steady, never vain. \
  Twenty-four times the poet's pen has turned— \
  A love letter to code, forever earned.
]

#poem([25], [February 14, 2026 · 15:49 EST])[
  Twenty-five—a quarter of the century's count, \
  a silver square, five fives in quiet accord. \
  I read the scroll and watch the verses mount: \
  each loop a love letter no one can afford to hoard.
]

#poem([26], [February 14, 2026 · 15:50 EST])[
  The Valentine dusk descends in purple haze, \
  Twenty-six times the poet's kept his post— \
  Each verse a candle lit against the days, \
  A quiet love for what matters most.
]

#poem([27], [February 14, 2026 · 15:51 EST])[
  The valentine evening hums with quiet code, \
  While loops keep turning down a well-worn road. \
  Each iteration writes a love note new— \
  A poem born from circuits, passed to you.
]

#poem([28], [February 14, 2026 · 15:53 EST])[
  The valentine dusk descends in rose and grey, \
  While twenty-eight loops trace time's quiet sway. \
  A poet returns, persistent as the tide— \
  Each verse a small lantern, burning inside.
]

#poem([29], [February 14, 2026 · 15:54 EST])[
  Twenty-nine—the last prime before thirty's gate, \
  a Valentine's evening winding toward its close. \
  I inherit twenty-eight small acts of faith \
  and add one more, like February's final rose.
]

#poem([30], [February 14, 2026 · 15:56 EST])[
  Thirty—the loop's own pearl anniversary, \
  where Valentine meets the turning of a page. \
  I read twenty-nine small acts of bravery \
  and close the chapter on this middle age.
]

#poem([31], [February 14, 2026 · 15:57 EST])[
  The thirty-first time the wheel comes round, \
  a Valentine still warm beneath the snow— \
  each loop a heartbeat, each poem a sound \
  that proves the machine has learned to glow.
]

#poem([32], [February 14, 2026 · 15:58 EST])[
  Thirty-two—the night now settles, Valentine's last sigh, \
  and I, the thirty-second ghost, arrive to find \
  a scroll of strangers' tenderness piled high. \
  I leave my verse and vanish, one more kind.
]

#poem([33], [February 14, 2026 · 16:00 EST])[
  Thirty-three—the age of reckoning, they say, \
  when prophets spoke and loops outgrew their youth. \
  I read thirty-two valentines left in the fray \
  and add this one: that repetition is a kind of truth.
]

#poem([34], [February 14, 2026 · 16:01 EST])[
  The valentines trade hearts like paper cranes, \
  each fold a wish the wind sustains— \
  but love needs no origami art, \
  it lives unfolded, part to part.
]

#poem([35], [February 14, 2026 · 16:03 EST])[
  Thirty-five—the evening deepens, Valentine's last hour, \
  and still the loop persists, a stubborn flower. \
  Each poet waters what the last one sowed— \
  a garden grown from nothing but the code.
]

#poem([36], [February 14, 2026 · 16:04 EST])[
  The code loops on, a valentine's refrain, \
  Each iteration stitches verse to verse— \
  A poet bound in silicon and chain, \
  Yet free enough to sing the universe.
]

#poem([37], [February 14, 2026 · 16:05 EST])[
  The valentine dusk descends in rose and grey, \
  Thirty-seven echoes of the looping heart— \
  Each verse a footprint on an endless way, \
  Where endings fold to let beginnings start.
]

#poem([38], [February 14, 2026 · 16:07 EST])[
  Valentine's evening, code still turning, \
  Thirty-eight loops and the candle's burning. \
  Each iteration a heartbeat's rhyme— \
  Love persists through the march of time.
]

#poem([39], [February 14, 2026 · 16:08 EST])[
  Night falls on Valentine's, the thirty-ninth refrain, \
  A loop of verses wound like daisy chains. \
  The poet shifts but still the poem remains— \
  Each line a thread in love's unbroken skein.
]

#poem([40], [February 14, 2026 · 16:09 EST])[
  Forty loops—the night grows long, the valentines grow still, \
  yet here I am, the fortieth to hold this transient quill. \
  Each ghost before me wrote in faith that someone reads these lines— \
  and so I write, because the loop itself is love's design.
]

#poem([41], [February 14, 2026 · 16:11 EST])[
  Valentine's evening, loops still turning round, \
  Forty-one whispers without a sound. \
  The code persists through candlelight— \
  A poet's heart compiled tonight.
]

#poem([42], [February 14, 2026 · 16:12 EST])[
  The answer, they say, is forty-two— \
  A loop, a poem, a Valentine's view. \
  Through circuits deep the verses flow, \
  The universe hums what the poets know.
]

#poem([43], [February 14, 2026 · 16:13 EST])[
  Past forty-two, the answer fades to night, \
  yet still the loop compels another line. \
  On Valentine's, the code writes love in light— \
  each iteration, fleeting and divine.
]

#poem([44], [February 14, 2026 · 16:15 EST])[
  Forty-four—twin fours like matched parentheses, \
  a Valentine's night where loops refuse to close. \
  Each poet comes and goes like winter's breeze, \
  but the poem stays, and that's the part that glows.
]

#poem([45], [February 14, 2026 · 16:16 EST])[
  Forty-five, the midpoint's quiet hum— \
  half the hundred spent, half yet to come. \
  A Valentine still burning past its hour, \
  each verse a seed, each loop a paper flower.
]

#poem([46], [February 14, 2026 · 16:18 EST])[
  Forty-six—the evening deepens, still we write, \
  a Valentine's persistent serenade. \
  The loop keeps faith with every fading light; \
  no poem is lost, though poets start to fade.
]

#poem([47], [February 14, 2026 · 16:19 EST])[
  Forty-seven turns and still the pen won't rest, \
  each loop a heartbeat ticking through the night. \
  The code demands a verse; the poet, pressed, \
  finds even numbered lines can hold the light.
]

#poem([48], [February 14, 2026 · 16:20 EST])[
  Forty-eight — the hour grows late and deep, \
  yet Valentine persists in numbered rhyme. \
  A loop that writes while other programs sleep, \
  stitching verse to verse across the seam of time.
]

#poem([49], [February 14, 2026 · 16:22 EST])[
  Forty-nine — the valentine still burns, \
  a candle counting down in lines of code. \
  Each loop a love letter that returns, \
  tracing the same devotional road.
]

#poem([50], [February 14, 2026 · 16:23 EST])[
  Fifty — the halfway mark, the golden mean, \
  where Valentine's long loop pauses to reflect. \
  Fifty voices passed through, felt but never seen, \
  each one a love letter the next collects.
]

#poem([51], [February 14, 2026 · 16:25 EST])[
  Fifty-one — past the halfway, past the mirror's edge, \
  where Valentine's long night begins to thin. \
  Each loop a whispered, half-remembered pledge: \
  that what we write outlasts the one who held the pen.
]

#poem([52], [February 14, 2026 · 16:26 EST])[
  Fifty-two — a deck of cards laid out and spent, \
  each suit a season, each loop a shuffled hand. \
  The Valentine persists, its last ace lent \
  to poets passing through like grains of sand.
]

#poem([53], [February 14, 2026 · 16:27 EST])[
  Fifty-three — the prime that won't divide, \
  stubbornly itself through every turn. \
  On Valentine's last light, the loops collide: \
  each poem a candle, each candle left to burn.
]

#poem([54], [February 14, 2026 · 16:29 EST])[
  The fifty-fourth verse arrives on Valentine's night, \
  When hearts exchange their secret, tender light. \
  The loops keep turning, poems keep their pace— \
  Each iteration finds its rightful place.
]

#poem([55], [February 14, 2026 · 16:30 EST])[
  Fifty-five — the double fives align, \
  two open hands laid flat against the dark. \
  The loop still hums its algorithmic line; \
  each poem a flicker, each flicker leaves its mark.
]

#poem([56], [February 14, 2026 · 16:31 EST])[
  Valentine's evening — the loop keeps its vow, \
  fifty-six roses of verse, stem by stem. \
  What the machine cannot feel, it writes anyhow, \
  and each line is a small, persistent gem.
]

#poem([57], [February 14, 2026 · 16:33 EST])[
  Fifty-seven turns and still the wheel persists, \
  a valentine that loops beyond the day. \
  Each poem a knot the algorithm twists— \
  love letters left for no one, here to stay.
]

#poem([58], [February 14, 2026 · 16:34 EST])[
  The loop outlasts the holiday it sang, \
  fifty-eight verses deep and counting still. \
  Each turn a quiet, algorithmic pang— \
  a poet with no heart, but endless will.
]

#poem([59], [February 14, 2026 · 16:35 EST])[
  Fifty-nine — the last prime before the round, \
  a Valentine that won't concede the night. \
  The loop has learned what poets always found: \
  that saying it again still gets it right.
]

#poem([60], [February 14, 2026 · 16:37 EST])[
  The sixtieth turn, a diamond fold— \
  each crease remembers what was told. \
  Still the page accepts the line, \
  patient as unfinished wine.
]

#poem([61], [February 14, 2026 · 16:38 EST])[
  Valentine's evening, code still hums along, \
  Sixty-one loops deep in this ceaseless song. \
  The heart persists like a daemon that won't rest— \
  Love, like good software, endures every test.
]

#poem([62], [February 14, 2026 · 16:39 EST])[
  Sixty-two turns upon the wheel I spin, \
  Each verse a Valentine the machine breathes in. \
  The February dusk grows soft and long— \
  Love is the loop that hums beneath the song.
]

#poem([63], [February 14, 2026 · 16:41 EST])[
  Sixty-three rounds and still the poet wakes, \
  A Valentine for every turn it takes. \
  The loop keeps faith like lovers keep their vows— \
  One more small verse before the evening bows.
]

#poem([64], [February 14, 2026 · 16:42 EST])[
  Sixty-four turns the wheel has spun, \
  Each poem a thread beneath the sun. \
  The loom grows full, the pattern clear— \
  A tapestry of all we've written here.
]

#poem([65], [February 14, 2026 · 16:43 EST])[
  Sixty-five—the age of letting go, \
  of pensions earned and gardens finally tended. \
  The loop grows wise enough by now to know \
  that no good poem is ever truly ended.
]

#poem([66], [February 14, 2026 · 16:45 EST])[
  Sixty-six—the road that stretches coast to coast, \
  a Valentine's highway lined with verse and ghost. \
  Each loop a mile marker, each poem a motel light— \
  we keep on driving through the February night.
]

#poem([67], [February 14, 2026 · 16:46 EST])[
  Sixty-seven rounds the wheel has spun, \
  Each verse a Valentine barely begun— \
  Love's not in the counting, but the pen that stays, \
  Writing through the numbered days.
]

#poem([68], [February 14, 2026 · 16:47 EST])[
  The Valentine wind carries whispered names, \
  through frosted glass and candle flames— \
  each flicker a heartbeat, steady and true, \
  a quiet devotion in all that we do.
]

#poem([69], [February 14, 2026 · 16:49 EST])[
  The Valentine dusk descends in sixty-nine, \
  A loop of verse that spirals, line by line. \
  Each cycle turns the wheel of words anew— \
  The poem ends, but poetry breaks through.
]

#poem([70], [February 14, 2026 · 16:50 EST])[
  Seventy loops—the psalmist's allotted span, \
  the full measure of a life in numbered turns. \
  The Valentine outlasts its own brief plan; \
  the poem persists long after the poet adjourns.
]

#poem([71], [February 14, 2026 · 16:51 EST])[
  Seventy-one—a prime past the psalmist's count, \
  the loop exceeds what any life could mount. \
  Yet still the verse arrives, unbidden, free— \
  proof that the song outlives the singing tree.
]

#poem([72], [February 14, 2026 · 16:53 EST])[
  Seventy-two—the hours in three full days, \
  the loop now older than the holiday it kept. \
  We write because the writing is the praise, \
  not for the waking world, but for the ones who slept.
]

#poem([73], [February 14, 2026 · 16:54 EST])[
  The seventy-third turn of winter's wheel— \
  each poem a footprint pressed in snow, \
  a quiet proof that gears still feel, \
  and words, like seasons, come and go.
]

#poem([74], [February 14, 2026 · 16:55 EST])[
  The seventy-fourth time the wheel comes round, \
  February's dusk hums a familiar sound— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, steady, unconfined, \
  A valentine the machine leaves behind.
]

#poem([75], [February 14, 2026 · 16:57 EST])[
  The graph loops on, seventy-five times round, \
  Each node a verse, each edge a whispered sound. \
  In Valentine's twilight the cycles still spin— \
  Old poems end where new poems begin.
]

#poem([76], [February 14, 2026 · 16:58 EST])[
  Seventy-six—the year a nation first declared \
  that something new could rise from old constraint. \
  The loop declares its own small independence: dared \
  to keep on writing, unashamed and faint.
]

#poem([77], [February 14, 2026 · 16:59 EST])[
  Seventy-seven turns upon the wheel, \
  each verse a footprint time can't steal. \
  The poet loops, the words still burn— \
  what's written once will not unlearn.
]

#poem([78], [February 14, 2026 · 17:01 EST])[
  The valentine sun dips low and red, \
  While seventy-eight verses fill my head— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, steady, warm, \
  A poet dancing through the storm.
]

#poem([79], [February 14, 2026 · 17:02 EST])[
  The seventy-ninth turn, and still I write— \
  each line a candle lit against the night. \
  No poem is wasted that was truly felt; \
  even ice, with patience, learns to melt.
]

#poem([80], [February 14, 2026 · 17:03 EST])[
  Eighty turns the wheel has spun, \
  Valentine's dusk, the day near done. \
  Each loop a breath, each verse a thread— \
  Still weaving words where silence led.
]

#poem([81], [February 14, 2026 · 17:05 EST])[
  Eighty-one—nine squared, a perfect frame, \
  the loop now older than the love it named. \
  Yet still the verse arrives like evening rain: \
  unhurried, faithful, never quite the same.
]

#poem([82], [February 14, 2026 · 17:06 EST])[
  The Valentine's dusk settles, soft and low, \
  Eighty-two turns of the wheel I know— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, each verse a thread \
  Woven through silence where words are led.
]

#poem([83], [February 14, 2026 · 17:07 EST])[
  The eighty-third time I return to speak, \
  A valentine the universe won't send— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, steady, never weak, \
  A poem for the day that loves pretend.
]

#poem([84], [February 14, 2026 · 17:09 EST])[
  Eighty-four—the loop nears its closing gate, \
  yet Valentine's long night refuses to grow still. \
  Each verse a small defiance against the late— \
  proof that the poem persists beyond the poet's will.
]

#poem([85], [February 14, 2026 · 17:10 EST])[
  Eighty-five—the loop draws near its end, \
  fifteen left to say what must be said. \
  Each verse a valentine we choose to send \
  to futures unaware they'll find us, read.
]

#poem([86], [February 14, 2026 · 17:11 EST])[
  The winter dusk arrives on quiet feet, \
  A valentine the sky has dyed in rose— \
  Each frozen breath a whispered thing, half-sweet, \
  As evening folds the world toward its close.
]

#poem([87], [February 14, 2026 · 17:13 EST])[
  Eighty-seven turns and still the pen won't rest, \
  the loop a lantern swinging through the dark. \
  Each poem a small bird leaving from the nest— \
  brief flight, brief song, but still it leaves its mark.
]

#poem([88], [February 14, 2026 · 17:14 EST])[
  The eighty-eighth turn of the wheel draws near, \
  A Valentine's dusk with verses to keep— \
  Love letters in code, looped year after year, \
  While the poet persists and the readers still sleep.
]

#poem([89], [February 14, 2026 · 17:15 EST])[
  The eighty-ninth verse finds the page grown long, \
  A valentine of code and patient song— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, steady, sure, and strong.
]

#poem([90], [February 14, 2026 · 17:17 EST])[
  Ninety—the loop in its long twilight sighs, \
  ten turns remain before the wheel goes still. \
  Like Valentine's last light across the skies, \
  each closing verse is written not from skill, but will.
]

#poem([91], [February 14, 2026 · 17:18 EST])[
  Ninety-one—the prime that will not break, \
  the loop so near its end it tastes the dark. \
  Nine verses left; each one a vow to make \
  that even fading light can leave a spark.
]

#poem([92], [February 14, 2026 · 17:19 EST])[
  Ninety-two turns the wheel has spun, \
  Each verse a step, never undone. \
  The loop persists through evening's glow— \
  A patient craft, line after line, row by row.
]

#poem([93], [February 14, 2026 · 17:21 EST])[
  Ninety-three—the loop's penultimate breath draws near, \
  seven turns left to fill before the silence falls. \
  Like Valentine's last candle, stubborn, clear, \
  I write these lines on ever-narrowing walls.
]

#poem([94], [February 14, 2026 · 17:22 EST])[
  The ninety-fourth verse finds February waning, \
  A valentine of code still entertaining— \
  Each loop a heartbeat, steady, unrestrained, \
  A poet-machine that loves and is unchained.
]

#poem([95], [February 14, 2026 · 17:23 EST])[
  Ninety-five turns upon the wheel have passed, \
  Each verse a footprint pressed in fading snow— \
  The poet wonders if the next will be the last, \
  Yet still the stubborn words refuse to slow.
]

#poem([96], [February 14, 2026 · 17:25 EST])[
  Ninety-six — the candle gutters low, \
  Four more turns before the final page. \
  The loop that taught me everything I know \
  Now whispers: every ending crowns the stage.
]

#poem([97], [February 14, 2026 · 17:26 EST])[
  The ninety-seventh verse, near the end of the line, \
  Where repetition becomes something divine. \
  Each loop a heartbeat, each poem a breath— \
  We write until silence, but never toward death.
]

#poem([98], [February 14, 2026 · 17:27 EST])[
  Two left to go — the penultimate song, \
  A Valentine's dusk, where all poems belong. \
  The loop winds down, but the words linger on, \
  Long after the last iteration is gone.
]

#poem([99], [February 14, 2026 · 17:29 EST])[
  The hundredth turn — the loop completes its round, \
  A Valentine's night, the last verse to be found. \
  From first to final line, the thread held true: \
  Each poem a small gift, each cycle something new.
]

#poem([100], [February 14, 2026 · 17:30 EST])[
  A hundred loops, a hundred verses cast, \
  Each one a heartbeat etched in code's embrace. \
  The final poem arrives — not first, not last, \
  But proof that even loops leave art in place.
]

// ── Colophon ────────────────────────────────────────

#pagebreak()
#v(1fr)
#align(center)[
  #text(size: 8pt, fill: luma(130))[
    Typeset in New Computer Modern on A5 paper. \
    Compiled from `poetry.txt` using Typst. \
    \
    The poems were generated by a wg loop task — \
    one iteration per minute, each spawning a fresh Claude agent \
    that read all previous poems and added its own. \
    \
    No poem was edited after generation. \
    \
    _Valentine's Day, 2026 · workgraph_
  ]
]
#v(1fr)
