Anachronism

In our nuclear age 

I'm powered by steam;

I will not fly, I 

Will not dream. 

I'd still burn wood 

If only I could 

But I have been told 

My smoke makes the 

Little ones choke,

That they'd rather toke 

When they take 

To those skies where

They know I will not go.…

In this nuclear age

I'm no longer a cleric, but 

Rather more a queer relic, 

Vaguely recalled 

By the so-called well

Schooled, 

But by the vast masses

More honestly 

Considered a fool. 

Still, mayhap it's good 

That I no longer burn 

Wood, for where could 

My chimney's smoke go?

Where'd blow the 

Breeze and who'd care?

Since the nuclear 

Fallout killed off the trees 

And poisoned the 

Remains of the air.…