The Sage Ponders Human Industry


it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
We don't do things like this anymore
Belching black smoke into the sky
Where spark and slag and soot must fly
A smog and smell creep round the door
All men become the same race: black
As smithies singed by fire before
And labor under its ponderous stack
The polluting cloud, the flames attack
And ash and sweat still stain the floor
What we had, we now must lack
Of industry, to drill, to frack
It is dreamed the day it all will cease
But does their wane meet our increase
Or does that wall begin to crack
Open, that held the elements before
At bay, and once that mighty claque
Has slept and can no longer watch the door
To great diligence will we, the poor
Return and thus win our honor back?
It's far too late to settle the score--
We don't do things like that anymore.
a postscript is here written:
a pass-word:
sparrows point blast furnace demolished

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