I am symbiotic, a cognate part of the machine we are,
Rust specks, swarf and filings returned to the melting point of origin.
Tomorrow my flesh will be a scrap-heap for others
To weigh, to pour, to mould, to Bessamerise.
Worry not about this brittle casting of a man today,
Tomorrow I may be drawn through dies and gauges,
A string on the Zither of rebirth.