"Timor mortis perturbat me." - William Dunbar
We are all of an age, I think,
When things remind us of the brink
Of impending mortality.
Thus here we read recurring themes
Of diverse rites and spells and schemes
Extending spoke vitality.
To circumvent our spokes' fatigue,
Extend their lifespan half a league,
We'd check their musicality.
The spokes were plucked and plinked for tone
Until we'd weary to the bone
Of notes with commonality.
The gurus urged another ruse
To eke another mile of use
(They're full of practicality).
Whate'er the gauge, whoe'er the maker,
Fancy-swaged butts, straight-plain as a Quaker,
Don't fret dimensionality:
The stress'll go, neat as you please
If, when they're tense, your spokes are squeezed,
Expunged of residuality.
A squeeze relieves hypertension,
Strains and ills too foul to mention,
Restoring stress neutrality.
But now I've lost the past intrigue
And well past caring how fatigue
Is cause for spoke fatality.
If cracks should come from core or skin
Won't change my apathy within
Or give _me_ immortality.
-------------------------------
John Dacey
Business Cycles, Miami, Florida
Since 1983
Comprehensive catalogue of track equipment: online since 1996.
http://www.businesscycles.com