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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350332" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Gesang ist Dasein"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A small thing done well, the steel bit paring<br>the cut end of the collar, lifting delicate<br>blue spirals of iron slowly out of lamplight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">into darkness until they broke and fell<br>into a pool of oil and water below.<br>A small thing done well, my father said</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so often that I tired of hearing it and lost<br>myself in the shop's north end, an underworld<br>of welders who wore black masks and stared</div><div style="margin:10px 0">through smoked glass where all was midnight<br>except the purest spark, the blue-white arc<br>of the clamp and rod. Hammers made dull tunes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">hacking slag, and acetylene flames cast shadows <br>of men against the tin roof like great birds<br>trapped in diminishing circles of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each day was like another. I stood beside him<br>and watched the lathe spin on, coils of iron<br>climbing into dusk, the file's drone, the rasp,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and finally the honing cloth with its small song<br>of things done well that I would carry into sleep<br>and dreams of men with wings of fire and steel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=B.H.+Fairchild">B.H. Fairchild</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350332" data-title="Song de B.H. Fairchild" data-description=""Gesang ist Dasein" A small thing done well, the steel bit paring the cut end of the collar, lifting delicate blue spirals of iron slowly out of lamplight into darkness until they broke and fell into a pool of oil and water below. A sm..."></div> </div> </div>
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