Reactionaries

The new, the strange--these things the people hate,
And have to hate to have a healthy home--
Creators of new values, virtues rate
As evil--burn them on the gate you'll roam
Right through in celebration as you pass
The body smoldering, the hero dead
Who opened up the date to bring the mass
Into a future beautiful, the bread
Of life available to all. The bones
Interred into the columbarium,
A statue raised, we hear the mourners' moans,
The mourners who could never make a crumb
The hero made now praise, indeed they hail.
The meaning that the nihilists reject,
The everything-has-meaning folks bewail
New meanings that he made, while some reflect
And think the changes obvious and true.
A brand new gadget? Please protect the old
No matter who it hurts--it's what is due
So some are safe from brand new wealth untold.
A brand new style of art? Reactionaries
Reject it, claim themselves the avant garde
And poison all the sweet-singing canaries
To warn off people from the gold the bard
Uncovered to enrich our souls to health.
But all protect the order that they know--
Except the hated makers of all wealth,
Who plant and water, make each person grow.