Do computers get constipated?
Or is technology overrated?
Do they suffer from senility?
As they age, they get as slow as me.
While waiting for my computer to boot,
I could learn to play a flute,
Or write a poem about what I see
Sitting in our hemlock tree.
Oh, well, it gives me time to look
At birds, and bees, and trees, and brook
And listen to the breeze and thunder
In our private world of wonder.
A hummingbird stretches his neck,
And spreads his tail for scary effect.
Now he's ruler of this feeder;
I guess he must be a leader.
Butterflies perform a dance;
To my eye, it looks like romance.
But who can tell what the dance does mean?
They may be deciding who's king or queen.
Our dog is taking a long, lazy nap;
Our cat is in the rocking chair's lap.
They are clearly saving their energy
For whatever excitement may come to be.
My man is off doing manly things,
Addressing my vehicle's knocks and pings.
I'm doing my part enjoying the fruits
Of several air-conditioned indoor pursuits.
I need to finish making pickles,
But when I'm alone, I can be fickle.
My reading list calls to me
To use all the time that's free.
The task for today, other than my blog
Is picking corn, and I could brush the dog.
But the heat isn't much of a motivator;
I think I'll wait for a time that's later.
I have to bribe myself to do anything else
Than to write or to read all the books on my shelf.
The garden is shaded after six;
This is a good time for corn to be picked.
Until that time, I'll mimic our pets,
And conserve my energy for breaking a sweat
Harvesting the last of our first corn crop,
Then I'll crash on the sofa with a cold pop.
When my man returns I'll be relaxed.
When he asks about today's acts,
I'll greet him with a hero's welcome
My leisure, a reward for his work well-done.