The Pencil pgs 20-23

The Machine, The mighty press, Seemed to writhe In pain. It too cried out In a death throw. Smoke! Grinding! Tearing! These were its final statements; The last printed words The Machine would utter. Finally, it ground to a halt. In silence the ancient machine Stood. The damage was done, The losses were taken And the business Closed for the weekend. Monday morning Would be … Continue reading The Pencil pgs 20-23