Chain

Chain

In the dim morning light, a chain of mist
Crawls over cobbled lanes, a silvery list
Of moments linked, each link a breath, a sigh—
A tethered tale that wanders, never shy.

From forge to factory, the iron sang,
Each link a promise, each clang a clang
Of labour’s hymn, of sweat and steady toil,
Binding the hands that sweat the British soil.

Yet chains can also be of thought, of fear,
Of habits forged through many a weary year—
A silver thread that loops around the mind,
Pulling us close to what we left behind.

But look! A bicycle’s chain, bright and keen,
Spins round the sprocket, a dance unseen,
Turning the pedal’s push into forward flight,
A circle of motion, pure delight.

So whether forged in fire or spun in thought,
The chain reminds us what we’ve brought
And what we seek—connection, strength, release—
A humble loop that brings us peace.