Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Very little tonight about Paul Revere.
On the 18th of April in ’75–
Hardly a person now alive
Would believe–a new message meant somebody’s here!
I’m serious: There was no texting, no phone,
And no messaging apps. Only snail mail, alone,
Of the methods by which we communicate now
Was around. You would unhitch your horse from your plow
And go visit–in person!–the person to whom
You had something to say; if you couldn’t somehow
Find a way to convey yourself right to the room
They were standing in, maybe you’d hire a guy
To deliver your note (and bring back the reply).
It’s difficult now to begin comprehending
The depth of the darkness when evening was ending
And moonglow alone shone a thin film of light
On the places still waiting for Ben Franklin’s kite
And the spark that it struck to be fanned to a flame
That was more revolutionary than the one
That Revere (and the friend whom the poem won’t name
When it’s written years later) that night had begun.
An IM back then meant direct line of sight
And a max of two characters! LOL, right?
It’s okay, say I’m lame. I think history’s fun!