My hoary handed sister of toil

Has left our world of grease and oil

She now inhabits cleaner rooms 

With nary a whiff of diesel fumes

No more long lunches in our dusty yard 

Nor almost romantic moments 'neath a canopy of cars

Not for her skinned knuckles or broken greasy nails

No more bellicose chuckles at lusty workshop tales

I hear that now she is using Olay, or some other unction or oil

But to me she will always be

My hoary handed sister of toil.