Hope 

Our Swainson’s thrush singing in the woods

A free bird unheard by those enslaved by headsets

Words erect meaning without benefit of mortar

no need to mix water, cement and lime

stories emerge turn to myth over time

transform, fragment, mother becomes daughter

father becomes son tragedy laughter

stories repeating over and over

dry-stone walls won’t crumble will outlast

masons that built them won’t become rubble

unlike words on paper or papyrus

physical media known to decay

digital media it’s here today

tomorrow who knows what will be outcast

So shall I speak of a world without wheely bins 

where wooden ships once sailed

where honor was most of the law

beliefs in only in what you saw

for the world was a mythic place

of witches, warriors, tyrant kings

where pottery was precious

there were no disposable things

just half lemon rind spoons impaled on twigs

except masonry there is no trace

but words describe it

Dick Russell © Richard M Russell

                         2025