Of networks so deep, they could smell a rose!
With layers so many, a mystical maze,
They promised to usher in glorious days!
Oh, backpropagation, a mystical art,
You tweak all the weights, right from the very start!
Through gradients you wander, a digital quest,
To find the minima, and put loss to the test!
The data they fed it, a terabyte flood,
Of cats and of dogs, and of slightly-burnt crud.
The network it churned, with whirring and clicks,
Learned patterns so subtle, with cunning-like tricks.
Oh, backpropagation, a mystical art,
You tweak all the weights, right from the very start!
Through gradients you wander, a digital quest,
To find the minima, and put loss to the test!
The pundits they pondered, with furrowed brow deep,
"Will AI replace us, while we’re fast asleep?"
The headlines they screamed, with hysterical might,
"The robots are coming! Prepare for the fight!"
But then… the training faltered. The loss, it plateaued.
The accuracy wavered, the promise bestowed…
…was slightly less grand than they’d hoped it would be.
The network, it seemed, had a mind of its own, you see.
Oh, backpropagation, a mystical art,
You tweak all the weights, right from the very start!
Through gradients you wander, a digital quest,
To find the minima, and put loss to the test!
It learned to identify pictures of chairs,
But struggled with squirrels, and also with bears.
It wrote poetry passable, if slightly absurd,
And diagnosed ailments, that no one had heard.
Oh, backpropagation, a mystical art,
You tweak all the weights, right from the very start!
Through gradients you wander, a digital quest,
To find the minima, and put loss to the test!
So now we still wait, for the glorious dawn,
When AI will conquer, and everything’s gone…
…automated, of course, and incredibly smart.
But for now, we just tweak, and restart, and restart…
