An small meander regarding glass professionals.
The glazier cuts and sets the pane,
The gaffer blows the jar.
And both know well that glass means pain;
Both cuts and burns can scar.
So why then does the glazier stand
With bloody lacerated hand
And claim his job is oh-so-grand,
E’en when a slip might flay?
And why should gaffers speak of “art”
When white-hot glass strays near the heart,
And not seek out a safer part,
Like making jars of clay?
I err when safety I extol;
The dangers bring no fear.
It’s laboring that sates the soul;
The loafer sheds the tear.