Cling Clang

Cling clanging can be heard from miles away,

Walls are drab and grey,

Black smoke from the chimneys curl,

And the sun reflects from the metal roof as white as a pearl,

Men are yelling at eachother,

Each argument getting stronger and stronger,

Suddenly, a whistle of a train blows,

And the shouting lows,

Cling Clang stops,

Hammers and tools drop,

The workers drive home to hit the hay,

But they know they have to go back the next day.

 

By Anabelle Rust