(This is a satirical poem on increased dependence of the internet in the past decade or so.)

 

Some years ago,

I would open a book,

Regardless of width, regardless of breadth,

I would read as by the hours played,

And without a break, none would be left,

I would finish it that very day.

 

But now that I'm older,

So much has changed,

I can't find the passion, I can't find the motive,

To, so obsessedly, read them now,

No more and no less busy or active,

But forgotten what some of my favourites were about.

 

Now agitated and confused,

How did it happen?

Losing joy in losing interest,

I try to recover what has gone,

Trying my very best,

To recall what I might have done

 

I can't recall a thing,

That may have pushed my books aside,

I rack my brains to think what I might have missed,

Then I turn on my computer and load up wiki,

Suddenly it strikes me that that is where the answer is,

Who'd turn pages when the same data takes just a few clicks to see?