An elegy on a piece of obsolete technology
In grandma’s scullery it stood, sublime, The rainbow arch which crowned the cast iron frame, Embossed with the Victorian maker’s name Whose fame has vanished in the mists of time. How often, now grown older, do I yearn To be once more that child of tender age, To wield the wheel and watch the cogs engage And thrill to see those mighty rollers turn. For grandma just a tool, for me a toy, A treasure from a magic wonderland Whose many parts would move at my command And light my eyes with hours of endless joy. Yet times move on, long-gone the joys of yore; Spin dryers have usurped the mangle’s place, Life quickens at an ever-faster pace And leaves behind the days that are no more!
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