SUCCESS
All night the tank conductor goes
Along the skidroad through the trees
An’ sprinkles on the crispy snows
The water thet will fall an’ freeze;
Thus, by the aid of his device,
Lays down an avenue of ice.
At morn the busy teams will bump
Along the way with mighty load
An’ find a passage to the dump
Along the tank conductor’s road—
Will pile their creakin’ bolsters full
An’ brag about the loads they pull.
There are a lot of us, I guess,
Who call ourselves “self-made” an’ such,
Who talk about our own success,
Yet haven’t done so very much.
Fer, ten to one, some other cuss
Went out an’ iced the road fer us.