The Rubaiyat of Fathi Habashi.

Awake! For ball mill in the dead of night

Has ground the ore which sets the gold to flight.
And lo! The metallugist from the East
Has optimised recovery by break of light.

Dreaming when dawn's left hand was in the sky,

I heard a voice within the Office cry,
"Awake my little ones and clean the plant.
The managing director is nigh."

The moving pulp gets leached and having dwelt,

Moves on. Not all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to yield another gram,
Nor all thy tears return it from the tailing dam.

What of the loaded carbon spilt upon the ground

Ignored by the operator on his nocturnal round?
Even as management complains,
He'll win the gram or so of gold that it contains.

And at week's end when all assays are writ,

Carbon profile, tonnage (give or take a bit),
Why is it the numbers seldom match
The bar of gold that they're supposed to fit?

Ah, take my CN soaked body from which the life was press'd
And bury me in a mullock heap facing West
So even a Superintendent passing by, might pause
And say, "He tried his best."

Source:
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"When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left

I buy food and clothes". Erasmus (1467-1536)