Requite the knotted brow and tott'ring sway
Ere knitted vein with horrid cross-eyed sight
Espies the moon-wracked dream benight the day.
Alas! The steelwork's din doth make me ill
Retired beneath the Pittsburg dome, my deeds
Forgot in clash of pans, all erstwhile skill
Lies slain. No doddle see: yon task exceeds
My grasp in dreadful measure. Toil no more
Thou valiant brain, but rest? Thou shoulds't not hate
Alzheimer's skull, for Nature doth abhor
A vacu'm. Fill thy globe to re-instate
It tome by tome, nor drum thy thumbs at me;
Nor yet lament: it ends in peace for thee.
Elizabeth
I happen to know that the pseudonym conceals the identity of a Pennsylvania flange-grinder recently retired after forty years work for US Steel. In this elegant and moving sonnet the poet has cleverly inserted references to the darker side of flange-grinding.