This horrifying and bleak poem is about a boy who was using a self-powered buzz saw late in the day. His sister came to tell him that it was supper time, and, maybe because he wasn't paying attention, or maybe because he wanted to be done with working and looked the other way, or whatever, the saw blade got loose, and, as if it had a life of its own, the blade cut the boy's hand off. A doctor was called; the poor boy was anesthetized and... and he died. Bled to death.
Then the people went back to what they were doing for nothing more could be done.
As for style, it is plain-spoken Frost factual reporting with an edge as sharp as the saw blade. The sense of threat and dread is there from the start:
"And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled"
Yet the tale unfolds simply and pathetically and chronologically. No nonsense: the sadness and meaningless speak for themselves.
The link supplied below explains it all in greater detail. A true story, very dark indeed.
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