Among grasses and trees, nature’s children
Cling to mother-earth,
Asphalt and concrete stairs of evolution
Say: “Now you are strangers to her.”

From the lounge into a plane, by escalator into the mountains,
The screen shines with beauties,
Phone and computer speak with us,
No wives, no children, no mothers.

The artificial is wiser than you.
If intellect is from heaven,
And the bodily dreams of comfort,
Then must we surrender to the machine?
Let the creation possess the creator?