A beautiful day in spring
And the carters get on their way
To chop and fetch and carry wood
As is their job
But one carter, Chief in his own mind
Is bound by chains of time,
As is befitting he must keep his cart
in line with the fashion of the day
Naturally then all must follow his line of thought
And mock those who follow tradition
As is their nature
But fashion's wheels as with the carts
Are always moving
So the Carter's cart heavy with each new fashion,
becomes a lurid mess
And yet he claims individuality?
Isn't individuality just conformity by another name?
What this Carter fails to see
Is that regardless of the method of conveyance
The end result remains the same.
A poems still a poem be it modern or archaic.
(Dedicated to a certain Jefferson Carter)
Alexander Steen Stewart
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pretentious-carter/
