A New Regime

Owed to Obama

There was a time, within my realm,
When Dreams forestalled Anxiety-
When the Mockingbird, ‘on the crisp summer night,
Sounded like the Whippoorwill.

I listened and was diverted from the path of Selfishness.

Then I was wrestling with the soil, before the time of living off the display of Liquid Crystals.
Mother said it was a “Good tired”,
When the Hands directed the Mind.

In those times before the Glut.

The Fish were there to be out-thought-
It was enough to catch them, not to deplete them-
To nourish the Soul, with one or two.
This was before Paper replaced Dreams-

When my Hands had Creation!

Creation of something of Worth- not of fleeting Value.

You could create the Feast with your own Hands-
The little slips of Paper were not required.
Will we once more have a “good tired” from our own muscles?
The creation of your own dwelling will light a Fire in your Soul!

Step back to a simpler time of the Muses and Conviviality.

Harold L. Overton