It's my closest bank and favourite book,
And all the shops I need.
It's the first place ever I think to look,
For life lived at full speed.

It's a mailbox, phone and place to meet,
A theatre and a stage.
It's a cinema with a single seat,
A scoundrel and a sage.

Like the wires behind the telly,
Its workings hide away.
We don't see its underbelly,
Just the joy of its display.

It's a knowledge resource quite sublime,
Beyond our startled stare.
And an emblem of our life and time,
With days half-lived elsewhere.

A realm of confused time and place,
Of lives unknowing shared.
A deep unfathomable inner space,
Humanity's innards bared.

Imagination's gift to man,
An earth-wide yearnful yawp.
Which reflects quite as no mirror can,
Its narcissistic gawp.

Yet what a gift to earthly home,
That to itself it chatters.
And all, its sphere can freely roam,
To share what daily matters.

An unequalled time in which to live,
A great emancipation.
Its bountiful best still yet to give,
To this lucky generation.