Glass Rose from the Ruined Wine Goblet - poem about real recycling

Slowly he measures the sands,
adding the touches that will color
the crafted item he labords on
to have the faintest touch of rose.
By the flames he lays the ingredients
working on the blending of others
for it iis to be part of a set and yet
it will still be a one off, unique.
Touch of heat does its trick
so he grabs his tube with care
gathering the blob onto the end
then blowing and spinning the tool
with such gentle care nurture
not force its expansion to his dream
of a wine glass for the set.
Craftsman's touch, artist's eye
soul of a lover of beauty on earth
all combined, and nearly take form
when the phone rings jarringly
breath falters for crucial half puff
and the bulb collapses, while in spin
folding in upon itself as he seeks
to salvage what he can of a days work
shifting and two more breaths
the folds take a shape not thought
as the color dictates the form by chance
and he sets off the glass rose
meant to have been the rose glass
after cutting low at the stem to enhance
the glory of failure's salvaged glamour
as well the increase now to the set
with such a table center piece to offer
for lovers enjoying their wine at night.