Touchscreens over Touch

The fragrance of a gentle flower,  
The coolness of a flowing stream,  
The wonder of a world so rare—  

Without warmth, a lifeless dream.

Fingers trace soft feelings bright,  

Eyes fixed on phones, day and night.

In a world electronic and fast, 

Even love seems to fade at last.

Eyes once drawn to nature’s grace, 

Now lost in this mechanical place.

In an age where hearts grow cold,

You're alone—with iron, not gold.