There is beauty in the fire that man controls
The roar of the white heat of the furnace
The red heat of the kiln
The spar and rumble of the forge
The sudden awesome flare of the bessemer
And the soft glow of the fireplace that welcomes and invites you
To stand, elbow on mantelpiece surveying the room as master should
But who is master – think on that
When mansions tumble reeking to the ground
And dark clouds hang like a pall over forests
When farmers stand bewildered by the ashes of next years crop
When hoses spray helpless among the screams of innocence
Who is then master?
And I couldn't resist reading another one........ ...and enjoying it's depth. Top marks, Keith. Love, Fran xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Bessemer was master in his day.Steel production produced a collidascope like Dante's Inferno....Master has the exclusive use of power.Good writing. Sid.