Once, a conversation began with a greeting. Person to Person, we would speak. We could laugh and cry, Knowing that we would never die. But now that is gone; lost forever perhaps, In this grand Age of High-Technology, Along with Craft and Art. Now there is no conversation Only a machine commanding our attention. Machine to man, man to machine, we do speak, Dreading it, not knowing what to say. All I ask is that you record a name and a number, So that when I return, perhaps we can converse And discover who we are.