Where the Workmen Work

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The grease and grime from the worker's hand
Sweats down the hammer's rusted head
To meet the nail and plank of wood
And stain the scaffold with steady work

The must was lifted into the sky
The wind filled with the workmen's smell
With seagulls gliding over head
Circling the crow's nest's flag
Like vultures to the slaughtered heap

This is where the workmen work
And rot like the wood they hammer





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