Valve state

Pressure builds,

steam takes shape,

A roof perched crow looks on,

gauge pins flare,

cogs creek despair,

to crow, It all seems wrong.

It sees its kin far down below,

like drones they march in lines,

unaware of their own wings,

A hive need just one mind.

Pressure builds,

pipe-works shake,

valves remain unturned,

steam escapes, crow hesitates,

its flightless kin, march unconcerned.

Pressure builds,

pipe-works break,

structures crumble, shake and burn,

Crow caws its warning cry,

no replies return.

Crow flaps its wings and flies away,

catching a kestrels eye,

the valve state takes,

for social grace,

even when you fly.