Man The Master

His hard-veined hand now grips the mountain’s peak;
He owns the earth and lets his action speak:
He shoots a steel shaft into its side
Then drains the blackish blood from out its heart.
The new town far below us glows with pride
As here, beside, we workers do our part.
The mountain’s raped, exploited, made to give
That giant, glad machines might move and live,
That men on city streets might whistle light
To feel the glow and comfort of man’s might.
His feet are planted wide, his back is straight;
His shoulders, like huge clouds, uphold the sun;
He, master of man’s fortune, stern, elate,
Now shines his sky-blue eyes on we who’ve won.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s