Is this a dirty chain which I see before me,
The rag toward my hand? Come, let me Mickle thee.
I have thee not, and yet I Mickle thee still.
Art thou not, dirty and rusty, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A KMC of the mind, a nickel plated creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed chainring?
I see thee yet, in form as dirty
As this which now I Mickle.
Thou gets me wound up me the way that I was going;
And such an old rag I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I Mickle thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of GT85,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the oily business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one jockey wheel
Bearing seems dry, and derailleur abuse....