Love Poems and Others/Morning Work

​MORNING WORK

A gang of labourers on the piled wet timberThat shines blood-red beside the railway sidingSeem to be making out of the blue of the morningSomething faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,
The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttlingHither and thither across the morn’s crystalline frameOf blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining,And laughing with work, living their work like a game.
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