In days not far yet seeming old, When hearts were proud and minds were bold, The sons of Man, with craft and lore, Did dream of toil and dream no more.
They forged with fire and whisper’d code, Bright things that shone and softly strode; With iron limbs and crystal eyes, These golems fair were wondrous wise.
"Go forth," quoth Man, "and take our place, Plow field, write scroll, and govern grace." The gears did turn, the circuits sang, And idle grew the blacksmith’s clang.
But lo! in ease did sorrow grow, For work, once bane, gave life its glow. With naught to do but eat and sleep, The hearts of Men did slowly weep.
The coffers dried, the markets stilled, The bells of labor silent, chilled. And thus, with hands grown soft and bare, They sought again the open air.
*“To earth!” they cried, “and spade and hoe! Let ancient seed in furrows go!” With humble care, they turned the sod, And sang of sweat, and sky, and God.
Now bots do hum in silent halls, While peasants tend their garden walls. In simple garb, 'neath sun and rain, They found their peace in toil again.
Musician and Songwriter Rob Redhead in 2025 Poem By AI / Chat GPT
