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PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE.
[[Dividing line]]

What nudity is beautiful as this
Obedient monster purring at its toil;
These naked iron muscles dripping oil
And the sure fingered rods that never miss
This long and shining flank of metal is
Magic that greasy labor cannot spoil;
While this vast engine that could rend the soil
Conceals its fury with a gentle hiss.

It does not vent its loathing, does not turn
Upon its makers with destroying hate.
It bears a deeper malice; lives to earn
its masters bread, and laughed to see this great
Lord of the earth, who rules but cannot learn,
Become the slave of what his slaves create.

And as it is now 10:20 P.M., Station FHC will sign off for the night.
Most sincerely,
Forie

[[underline]]To Willie, October 28, 1924[[/underline]]: I am sorry about your grandfather.
It isn't so hard to lose old people, but it is sad just the same.
...... It is a wonderful thing to be able to express one's self
the way the poets do. I marvel at it time and again. Here is a
little poem about the sea by my old friend Sara Teasdale.
Somehow, I do like her, perhaps because she feels just as I
do about the sea. To me, nearly all of her poems show so clearly
how much she truly appreciates the beauty of life and the
wonder of this world we live in. And following it, is another
poem of hers I am very fond of.