Lace outlines delicate throats of women

Nobly walking down cobblestone streets,

Grease coats the hands of mechanical men

As they hammer metal in steady beats.

Stars glow less than nuclear timepieces,

Though watchmakers are no where near happy,

Seamstresses design new folds and creases

While lovers walk closely and act sappy.

Singing automatons will encourage

And children fill their mouths with cinnamon.

This great age of invention will flourish

Under the care of the land’s citizens,

Which allows for a state of fruition

That brings forth ease to personal missions.