Death in Donora

I have felt the fog in my throat --
The misty hand of Death caress my face;
I have wrestled with a frightful foe
Who strangled me with wisps of gray fog-lace.
Now in my eyes since I have died.
The bleak, bare hills rise in stupid might
With scars of its slavery imbedded deep;
And the people still live -- still live -- in the poisonous night.

Folklorist Dan G. Hoffman reported collecting the ballad "Death in Donora" from area resident John P. Clark

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Sidebar: Fluoride and the Mohawks