Sufficient

The  rippling of the branches
In front of the  gentle white clouds
Seems to have little pattern
Yet the  red sun governs all
Both the swift and the slow
In the heart of the dark shrubs
Insects work patiently
Follow their inner logic
Like mini-computers
Reproduce as appointed
If only my computer could
Reproduce;what a saving
Of course we’d need updates
It is not the survival
Of the fittest computer
But the prices ;what will sell?
Computers don’t make love nor
War.They are patient like
Tombstones. by the ancient wall
Of Tudor brick near the path.
Can laptops be cremated?
Will the patient churchmen know?
This is a new one for them.
Jesus had no computer
It is inappropriate
To even ponder such   houghts.
He spoke and people listened
That is what makes us human