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The prompt is Gemini 2.5 Pro AI's response to this request:
"Describe the arrival of winter through a free verse poem."
https://aistudio.google.com/app/prompts/new_chat?model=gemini-2.5-pro

Original structure of the poem:

It begins as a suspicion in the light.

The sun, low and anemic,
no longer climbs the sky but drags itself along the treeline,
a tired memory of gold.
It offers illumination, not heat.
Its rays lay flat on the frost-hardened ground,
proving only that the shadows are longer,
and permanent.

Then the wind changes its language.
The summer’s murmur through the birch leaves
is replaced by a high, clean shearing sound,
a surgeon’s blade against the bone of the world.
It finds the flaw in your jacket,
the gap in the window frame,
not with anger, but with a tireless, patient physics.

The world’s smells are erased.
The damp rot of the forest floor, the sweetness of cut grass,
all of it goes.
In its place, a sharp, sterile scent—
the smell of stone and iron and the high, thin air itself.
The smell of absolute zero approaching.

Water forgets how to move.
The ditch stiffens. The pond’s skin tightens,
first to a cataract film, then to a dull, grey shield.
The lake stops breathing under a pane of black glass,
locking the darkness within it.

And then, one evening,
the first flakes arrive.
Not a storm, but a quiet confirmation.
They are not falling so much as appearing,
a slow-motion surrender of the sky,
each one a tiny, complex argument for silence.

The world is no longer happening out there.
It is reduced to the lamp, the stove,
the sound of your own blood in your ears.

The great subtraction is complete.


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I'm not here to express my own creativity (what creativity?), but to observe AI's pseudo-creativity.