The Little Textile Worker
You may find him in the East and in the South, this small child slave...
|You may find him in the East and in the South,|
This small child slave. His little eyes
Look out a weary on the world. His little mouth
Is hard and old, in babyhood; his shoulders droop.
But skinny hands fly at the broken threads,
Tie up the knot, undo the tangled loop
Unerringly, with quick, machine-like skill.
Quick-witted hands. Only they may live. The baby promise
Of all other human faculties the great machines soon kill.