Machining

I hear the gears begin to move
slowly at first
then picking up speed
like the wind in the spring on a open field
they compose a symphony.
Each machine has a different sound.
Together they create the music of the shop.

I feel the excitement build.
To think of what this cold, rough metal will become.
I mount the piece on my lathe.
I can see the sleeping shape.

As the lathe's hot oil starts to smell,
as chips and coolant rain
my masterpiece awakes.

When the lathe stops,
quiet.
The symphony's song is over .
Instruments sleep.
With pride I see this once rough steel transformed.

- Henrique Figaro