In the road, up the street,

Down your way; `tis there they meet

In whirligigs of light which byte

Into their state of being,

And souls feel brighter when they reveal

To naked screens and phones which moan

The screams and dreams of viral shame

That knows no other name

Than callous boredom of oblivion.

To place the blame, full fair and square,

For lack of joy in this their game

The hoi polloi (both boys and girls)

Their toys employ

To have their say intelligent albeit artificial.

But can we think of yesteryear when first we met

With nought but pencil, pad, chalk and slate

To write our passages of sad or glad, prosaic love

With a labour lost that had its day

Over the hills and far away.

With a heigh ho and a hey nonny no

To oblivion shall we also go?