This is a poem I wrote in English class at school. I don't own Fahrenheit 451.
The growling like a frying sound
A scraping of metal
Leaping out like a moth in the raw light
It targets itself
Homes itself
Cuts off.
The dead beast, the living beast.
It doesn't think what we don't want it to
It just functions
We decide for it
It growls a strange grasping, electrical sizzle.
The dead beast, the living beast.
Well there you go! Hope you liked it!