The poor sooty chimney cleaner who shouts from a top;
' Oh! These trampled flowers cry irksomely
But the inhuman machines never stop the rotation
And crush the soft petals vigorously.
My vigilance is in vain as I am totally helpless
And the proprietor is useless.'

To my poet friend Duncan.Wyllie

* [ Where it goes the human fragrance? ]

nimal dunuhinga

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-perfume-factory/