fingers of light cast across the work
a knitting and a kneading of flesh
in the heartening association of union
spread night like navy cotton
over the ardour of our endeavours
hunger stringing at our nerves
as we grind our dust and our sweat
heaving hooks grabbing deep
our nightshift labours continuing
to the sharp whistle of the shift end.
posted by idlechatter @ 1:49 PM
