Im saving up my commish for the leather travel bag

Im saving up my commish and chatGPT wrote me a poem, aww how sweet (please send my bag when I hit 1700)

In the land of tea and manners, where pounds do reign, I've set my sights on a bag, my commission to gain.

Leather and sturdy, for adventures so grand, But the catch in this tale is the UK, my homeland.

Across the Atlantic, where the Yankees reside, I've stacked up my commish, with a sense of pride.

But alas, the company's in the good ol' USA, Sending the bag my way, or so I pray.

Oh, the irony, the humor, the twist, As I calculate pounds, in my savings midst. Will they deny my bag, my leather delight? Customs and shipping, a perilous flight.

In dollars and cents, my commission grows, But will the bag traverse, where the Thames river flows?

A transatlantic tango, a dance quite complex, A leather bag dream, what a humorous text.

So, I'll save and I'll hope, in jest and in cheer, For a bag that may never quite make it here. In the UK, where the hurdles may lag, A Yank with a dream, of a denied leather bag.