nothing more dost i do dread, then inhaling such fumes until I am dead.
Oh to stroll hand in hand down the river walk path, to kiss your cheek would be lovely, please lift you hazmat mask
From the top floor of St. Ritas hospital i gander,
looking south to the fire and smoke my mind doth wander.
What fumes through yon window seep?
That maketh me heart go to a deep sleep.
With words of wit, we love the flame
That gives to Lima all that fame
And someday when that flame goes BOOM
All that remains, will be the fumes
Breathe deeply, then, that Lima fog
That changes taste, of gruel and nog
Alas, the fires and smoke will pass
When we no longer need the gas.
So tis the end of this great tale,
of gas, of fire and penned by no ale.
Of a lima refinery, in a small little dell.
(This poem was inspired by the stench of the local Refinery, our finest attribute. ha. If any of you have been to my town, you know what we're talking about. So, thanks to John, Connie, Bob and Sheri we know have our own little sonnet. )
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