The artisan is lost in space.
There is no way of showing grace
by being dust when being heap.
By manufacture all are cheap.
No use there is of knowledge of
the many cherished ways of love
when manufacture every need
will fill with cost-effective feed.
And so the poet has become
a figure rather bothersome,
insisting upon form and rhyme.
To those not judged that is a crime.
I have put a link to this post on the blog hop of "dVerse" | here.