A country man and
railroad man, both he
And all the
rugged workers on the line,
From future,
past, dismembered. Faces shine;
The eerie
darkness glows. His limbs swing free,
To wage one
useless war against the sea
By blasting
earth. The measured holes combine,
Two seven-footers
his; the drill’s one nine.
He won and died
of it, shrewd prophecy!
A man today would
never even start
To pit himself
against the iron beast
And give his best
before he’d say he’d tried.
The cold machine
has atrophied his heart,
As limbs will
shrink within a cast. At least
When Henry burst
his heart, a man had died.
