I Work Machines

Some ride high pacers

Then buckle, then groom,

I toil the mornings

And weary by noon,

Some lie on beaches

While others sip wine,

I work my magic

From noon until nine.

 

Some pass each hour in

A long, speechless haze,

Some watch from windows

Some others, for days,

Some look for something

They cannot define,

I work machines

That decipher each line.

 

Some will learn nothing

Who sit by and wait

For life to approach them

Before it's too late,

I tend to secrets

In shape and in form,

Lending my essence

From dusk until dawn.

 

Others may wait

For the end of their spell,

I weave my magic

With engines from hell,

Engines of noise that

By dight and by dint

I coax from disaster

As slowly - they print!

 

David Lewis Paget