This reads best alongside an actual copy of "The Raven" since I tried pretty hard to match that as closely as possible whenever possible.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/48860

The XP Whore

Once I posed a desperate query, to my friends, at the monastery,
Over many a terse and confusing page of perldoc bore—
     While I scolded, nearly snapping, my sanity at least slightly cracking,
Perhaps I messed up the mapping, is the mapping to my @array poor?
“Tis surely this,” I sputtered, “the mapping to my @array is poor—
          Thankfully answered by an XP Whore.”

     Ah, so fondly I remember when I became a PerlMonks member;
And in my innocence never posted purely to be an XP Whore.
     Happily your code I’d borrow;—and back again I’d be tomorrow
     Though some examples left me harrowed—harrowed and synapses sore—
For my ignorance was abundant and my knowledge of the language poor—
          But now I’m just an XP Whore.

     And the sunken, sad, depressed feeling from this realization
Killed me—instilled me with monastic penance in hope to even the score;
     So that now, to still the clicking of my keyboard, I sat chanting
     “Laziness, impatience, and hubris be yours even more—
May laziness, impatience, and hubris be yours even more;—
          But I’m still an XP Whore.”

     With each day my code grew stronger; although I am no Perl Monger,
“Saints,” say I, “or simple Monks, it’s your wisdom I implore;
     But the fact is I’ve been sinning, and so openly you’ve been giving,
     And so prolifically you’ve been helping, helping this lowly XP Whore,
That ashamed I am before you”—I admit I am an XP Whore;—
          Please ++ this $XP_Whore.

     At the XP levels I was peering, long I starred, my brain whirring,
Pouting, scheming schemes to Sainthood that would be ill-gotten for sure;
     But the truth was awoken, that my soul would be broken,
     And the only words spoken by my conscience would be, “XP Whore.”
This it repeated, with an echo in my console, “XP Whore!”
          I’m just a dirty XP Whore.

     Back to the monastery yearning, all my daily votes returning,
Once again allowing me to ++ where I was unable before.
     “Certainly,” said I, “certainly this participation is monastic penance;
     Let me see, then, what this post is, and perhaps add more—
Let me think clearly a moment and perhaps add more;—
          Because I am an XP Whore!”

     On this point I do not stutter, though, I often ramble and mutter,
When the words sought in my brain are too deeply buried in its core;
     Or when a witticism fails me; or a Python Zealot flames me;
     But, from the wisdom of Erudil, nobody profits from a flame war—
Even I know this truth that nobody profits from a flame war—
          Even I, a sinner, an XP Whore.

Then my XP Nodelet chiming me from my philosophizing,
By the wonderful and sought after fake internet points it bore,
“Though thy value is argued in this Perl haven, thou,” I said, “art surely crave-en,
Desired and coveted fake internet points of which I want more—
Tell me what I must do to acquire even more!”
          Because I’m such an XP Whore.

     Much I’ve parsed this monastery to find wisdom given out so freely,
Though its answers a little perplexing—a little ignorance it wouldn’t abhor;
     For we cannot help seeing that no unsaintly being
     Ever yet was not blessed with learning about Perl more—
Links or heaps of code examples learned them Perl more,
          Thanks to my fellow “XP Whores.”

     But the Novice, sitting bewildered at his office, posts often
That one thing, that the monks here so universally abhor.
     Incomplete code with inconsistent clutter—no use strict; or use warnings; uttered—
     Till the first monasterian mutters “Make sure your code runs before—
Ignorant of our ways you may be, so Make sure your code runs before.”
          It’s hard to be an “XP Whore.”

     Embarrassed by this curtness spoken in reply to his post broken,
“Apologies,” says he, “I’m simply new to learning Perl lore
     Caught by some unhappy manager who I fear could be a career damager
     Forcing fast and forcing faster maintenance on Perl code of yore—
My experience has known none such Perl code of yore
          Please help me ‘XP Whores’.”

     But the monks still wondering what the Novice is pondering,
Must wait for code and question clear, before knowledge pour;
     Then, with revision making, the Novice responsibility taking
     Kludge upon kludge, raking through his code so obviously poor—
Receives fixes, suggestions, links, follow ups, and praises despite his code so obviously poor
          It’s what we do as “XP Whores.”

     Thus I sit engaged in confessing, but with little remorse expressing
To the monks whose vast wisdom has engrained into my brain’s core;
     This and more I sit opining, with my thoughts all aligning
     On the subject of my rhyming that I’ll blatantly state once more,
But that may be met with whining when I blatantly state once more,
          We are, all, just XP Whores.

     Now, methinks, many an XP dispenser, will ++ this if it passes the censor
Swung by NodeReaper whose reaped-nodes frequent the Worst Nodes store.
     “Death,” I decree, “the gods hath given thee—a power that’s most unhol-ee
     Despite—despite the frequent ribaldry in the use of the word Whore;
Quash, oh quash the use of your cruel scythe and accept this usage of Whore!”
          For the description fits “XP Whore.”

     “NodeReaper!” say I, “thing of necessary evil!—reaper still, if death or devil!—
Whether Hater sent, or whether administrative duties brought thee to my door,
     I beseech to not be haunted, in this node that I have planted—
     Leave it to be freely taunted—this of you, I implore—
Is there—is there need to plead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
          Please let me be an “XP Whore.”

     “NodeReaper!” say I, “thing of necessary evil!—reaper still, if death or devil!
By the Saints that guide us—by the gods we both adore—
     Tell this sinner with hubris abundant, and yes Poe was a little redundant,
     If his post is destined to be cast upon the Reaper’s floor—
His post of toiling labor cast upon the Reaper’s floor.”
          Please don’t squash this “XP Whore.”

     “Know this of the title you’re imparting, monk or novice!” I declare, ego guarding—
“Also thee can be labeled with the title of XP Whore!
     Declare no hypocrisy by being outspoken unless thy intent is mutual joke-en!
     Just simply give your ++ token!—especially if the receiver is XP poor!
Spare thy -- from their stats—especially if they’re XP poor!”
          Now kindly ++ this $XP_Whore.

     My goal here, which is fitting, is XP getting, is XP getting
And if I have entertained you and brought you from a state of bore;
     My whimsical XP scheming toward that Sainthood I am dreaming,
     Having lifted your spirit more inside this monastery we adore;
And my spirit lifted with it inside this monastery we all adore
          Then ++ this—$XP_Whore!