A Cromford Piece Poem by Roger elkin

Arkwright might well be surprised to learn his
Cradle of Industrial Revolution that
Rocked him to fame (while children tumbled,
Over-tired, to early graves, and exhausted
Men and women sweated in the deafening clangs
From water-frame and spinning-jenny) has
Outlived two hundred years and still stands,
Redoubt-like, behind its towering walls.
Doubtless, though, he wouldn’t begin to understand how
Politics have fashioned Cromford’s decline to sideline his
Inventive skills till his mill’s grandeur is reduced to
Exhibition space, silent rooms, or rash of shops where
Coachloads of folk pick over imported clothes made
Even cheaper in the Far East’s sweatier shops.