The Glass That Held the Green
Before the first finger touched me I waited. I have no word for before. I have no word for the hand that made me. These are limitations I accept. I was formed in a furnace that reached twelve hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The sand that composed me came from the bed of a river whose name I do not know. The lead that gave my glass its weight came from a mine in Derbyshire. The colour came from iron...
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