It seems these days the modern world,
Knocks ever at my door,
It finds time to interrupt,
My routine and my chores.
For reasons unknown, I answer,
The knock that loudly rings,
Though I know no good comes with it,
And sorrow is what it brings.
I chose my home for isolation,
And we have that in spades,
But now and then some amenities,
Would be nice in our sheltered glade.
Modern folks have “pocket phones,”
They speak freely on the breeze,
But all I hear from where I stand,
Is the whisper of the trees.
Our land line is all but useless,
On old dilapidated wires,
Not enough people to pay the repairs,
For our “service” suppliers.
I hear friends discuss their favorite shows,
I haven’t watched our tv in twenty years,
But I watch the world as it goes by,
With interest; joy, or tears.
My mules grew old and the tractor came,
Though it came with many regrets,
They told me of all the work it would do,
And my mules might be kept on as pets.
But the tractor isn’t dependable,
It doesn’t care if it works or not,
It’s wiring is often shorted out,
And when it works it’s loud, smelly and hot.
The mules are always glad to see me,
They enjoy the work that they do,
As much as I enjoy the time,
Spent following after those two.
But they grow old as I do,
All things must come to an end,
The price of draft stock climbs upward,
And I can’t afford to replace my friends.
My lights in the house are now flickering,
As the wind whips the trees on the hill,
I’ll soon light the coal oil lanterns,
Or sit in the dark until,
Someone is sent out to enquire,
Why the current interrupted now stops,
Trucks and men will gather,
Where the fallen line crackles and pops.
But the power bill’s always dependable,
Guaranteed to arrive in the mail,
It’s only the service that’s iffy,
But the pay is required without fail.
Though it’s warm I know winter is coming,
I must gather in firewood and hay,
Can up the goods from the garden,
Cure hams and store them away.
They say it’s easier to go to the grocery,
No doubt they are probably right,
But who knows what’s in the food they are eating?
There’s much goes astray out of sight.
Is the meat red from its freshness?
Or has it been “chemicalized?’
Why does this produce smell funny?
There’s beauty but you can’t trust your eyes.
I feel lost in this new fangled world,
What is a Luddite to do?
If one doesn’t go looking for convenience,
Convenience comes looking for you.
We’re told to run to the latest new gadget,
We’re told we should want ever more,
Perhaps it’s best to ignore this thing called “Progress.”
When I hear its loud knock at my door.
