At the Morning Milking

Only old Yochan tholes, he’s thrawn
enduring at the morning milking.
Every other crofter drives to Tain
to shop for milk, is Yochan’s thinking.

But if we don’t work what doth we do
with idle hands? Yochan insists
crofting thus answers the call of
Dr Frankl the Logotherapist.

When we have a why to live for we can
live with any how. Gardening, baking,
sculpting, birthing, burying. Even the plough.
Until the day a robot can come and milk my cow

and sing to her to keep her calmly
chewing her cud at the well-hayed manger.
Yochan says. AI’s a farce that makes of man
the Imago Dei, a sorry stranger.