The tractor crawls across the midnight field,
Guided by the satellites on high.
It knows the promise of the future yield,
And counts the stalks beneath the moonlit sky.
A drop of water for a thirsty root,
A gram of nitrogen for every leaf.
It calculates the beauty of the fruit,
To bring the hungry world a swift relief.
No wasted seed upon the stony ground,
No chemical poison in the winding stream.
A perfect balance has at last been found,
The ancient farmer’s long-forgotten dream.
The earth is tended by a mind of glass,
As through the rows the silent shadows pass.
It moves with motors humming soft and low,
A biped balance on a narrow floor.
With sensors sensing where the shadows go,
It opens up the heavy kitchen door.
No longer confined to the factory line,
It walks among us in a plastic skin.
With joints of metal and a wire spine,
Where does the machine end and we begin?
It folds the laundry with a patient grace,
And keeps a vigil by the infant’s bed.
A mask of kindness on a static face,
With all the wisdom of the servers fed.
The servant stands where once the master stood,
A silent guardian of the neighborhood.
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