By Rebekka Mallicoat
What a set of words we leave,
Our legacy to share.
Our children’s children looking back
Will see our shame laid bare.
Not for us, those Groovy Tunes,
The future verdict pending.
Why the wait for time’s last say?
It is already trending.
And when we meet, we will not plan
A time to shoot the Breeze;
Just like that, we are Friends now.
Alerts we must appease.
And when the day has been so rough
That you must share the ache,
It is your Blog that hears the pain,
An ear that cannot wake.
Or maybe you’ve just heard a joke;
You could call, but no, a Tweet?
Okay, but don’t be rude.
That could bear a heavy price,
A thoughtless, ill-timed joke.
The mob can tear a viral path
Through small-time city folk.
Or maybe they will Like your words
And Post them place to place;
There are whole groups of people-
This type of fame they chase.
And maybe they achieve that fame,
The Google search replies.
A Selfie for each perfect day;
No Instagram may die.
And if our children’s children
Make it here despite the odds,
They will find our silly lives
Displayed like those of gods.