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Life in the Industrial Revolution

By PukaMarseillaise, Boise, ID

London, 1802

I wake up and think I am in our old house in the countryside. The sun is streaming through the window from rolling, green hills outside, and I can smell my mother’s cooking wafting through the house. Soon the day will begin, a long day, of weaving cloth.

This is not true, but it is how it used to be. When the machines came, we could no longer keep up with the demands for cloth. We were forced to move to the city and work in a factory, where we tend machines all day long until the day is over, and with our very bones aching, we hurry to bed. Then, all too soon, the bells ring at 4:00 AM to wake up the proletariats of this city.

I can hear the bells now and I must get up.

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1 comment(s)
While the story was good, the poem at the end. was better. I think you should consider re posting just the poem. Maybe think about repeating the first line at the end of the poem? Nice work, in any case.
Oct. 05, 2015 at 9:46 PM • Report