The Workshop Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

The remnants of a Blacksmith's workshop
Where once the sounds were heavy
The wheel was rolling day and night
When sickles were the main product and tool
The farmer's choice made them busy
The stone cutter's axe were sharpened here
Still had little income and savings in penury
No longer now exist in my village
The dilapidated shed and his own primitive tools
The depletion of paddy field,
All made them jobless and unsustainable
Still the remnants are lying there
As a monument of this village life of the time.