[Verse 1] Counting up from two, the numbers rise To the limit n, where primes do lie [Verse 2] Pointer set to the first, a prime in the making In the list where numbers are awaking [Verse 3] Mark the multiples, from the square it starts Of the current number, prime hearts depart [Verse 4] Forward to the next, unmarked and free A new prime candidate, to be or not to be [Verse 5] Again the process, mark the multiples In the sieve of numbers, where primes are found [Verse 6] Onward til the pointer, exceeds the root Of n, the limit, where our search is stooped [Verse 7] Left are the survivors, the primes that remain In the sieve of Eratosthenes, their claim to fame [Verse 8] Output the winners, the list of the prime The Sieve of Eratosthenes, the process of time