Along a hillside, alone and unplugged

So I heard that cars can drive themselves,

And that a metal voice will ship groceries to my door.

I sit along this hillside, and I wonder if these machines will one day

Provide me the pinch of sun I see through the crooked clouds,

Or the trill of the wind along an unspoiled path,

Or the shortness of fall’s first breath upon my lungs.

Among the rugged weeds I spot a patch of flowers,

And I hear the unbroken song of leaping waves along the shore.

I am alone and unplugged, and pleased to know that there is no such machine yet

That can paint a vibrant rainbow across the blue-gray sky,

Nor offer the numb solitude of a meandering walk, the sun warm on my back.

Just as there is no gadget yet that can high-five a student in the hallway,

Nor encourage the glad cries of children at play.

I smile a grin of confidence in knowing that there is no invention that the world has made,

Nor one that it will ever conceive,

That will replace the warmth and depth of a great school teacher,

Forming young minds as an artist shapes vases out of clay.

—Daniel J. Evans