Dawn—
And the steel-voiced trumpets of industry
Stab the sleeping workers to consciousness.

Breakfast—
Gulping of indigestible foods and liquids
In the stolid atmosphere of hasty words.

Factories—
Gates and the ting-ting-ting of time clocks,
Interspersed with sharp contentions of timekeepers.

Work—
The avaricious jaws of machinery, growling, cursing;
Masticating raw materials, souls, flesh,
With the avidity of starved monsters.

Dusk—
Trumpets! and the sudden realization of identity,
The weary drag of heavy muscles homeward.

Night—
The frugal meal, the monotony of responsibilities,
The unread newspaper, the heavy sleep of death.

Dawn—