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 Fickled Finger of Fate

Working in the industrial environment always has it's dangers;
Moving parts, chemicals, thermal burns; none are our strangers.
No matter what my cautions are, no matter how safe my habits;
It sometimes feels like magic, like pulling out of my hat rabbits.
Awareness of gremlins is my goal, I never let down my guard;
It is my goal to retire in one piece, not even my body scarred.
Yet, I wonder when that fickled finger of fate will call out my name;
As it seeks to attack my body, leaving me blind or maybe lame.
Workplace safety is the mantra of our management at the mill;
But not a single soul seeks to harm himself, it is never their will.
When that evil rears it's head and bites a coworker in the butt;
We all stand in a state of silence for a moment, hit hard in the gut.
Internalized is the ramifications of the dangers inside the mill's gate;
Doing everything within our power to avoid that fickled finger of fate.


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