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.