New Ways

I don't want to tell,
Of days that's gone.
I want only to tell,
Of days coming on.

To seek out more conveniences,
Coming out for our use.
And to that which is luxury,
Not so hard of abuse.

To have music played,
That is sweet on the air.
Not the harsh, banging kind,
That raises your hair.

A cure for all cancer,
That prey on mankind.
And a radiance to thought,
That comes to the mind.

I'm so tired of olden-ways,
That have come to some.
Let a hundred years pass,
And let the glorious things come.


E.P. 1908 - 1989