Clean water, deep wells, shared laughter,
a life that moved at nature’s pace.
Now water laden with chemicals
flow from private taps;
there is no more time
for quiet chats under
the tree next to the well.
Gone are the days when we
shared our news
seated in rocking chairs
shelling beans in our laps.
We sipped cold lemonade,
comforted a sleepy child,
and had all the time in the world.
Porches were built on the front of the house;
walls were unheard of in those days.
Wells, rocking chairs, neighborly chats
are long gone. Too bad.
Instead we watch gruesome news
filled with the horrors of mankind.
Perfumed scented, handwritten notes
our children have never seen.
Video games of death,
instant gratification is what they know.
Not the taste of water pure
from the well their great-grandfathers dug
near the spreading oak with the bench underneath,
and all the time in the world.