Cross Roads

STEEL

     They think that we're just animals, almost,
     We men who work with steel.
     A lady visitor was here th' other day,
     She looked at me, an' I could hear her say,
     "My, what a life! I s'pose his only boast
     "Is muscles!"
                    She's wrong. We feel
     A certain pride, a certain sort o' joy,
     When some great blazin' mass is tamed an' turned
     Into an engine wheel. Our hands get burned,
     An' sometimes half our hair is scorched away—
     But, well, it's fun!
                           Perhaps you've seen a boy,
     Who did hard work he loved, an' called it play?
     Know what I mean? Well, that's the way we feel,
     We men who work with steel.

     A lady visitor was here th' other day;
     She held her skirts right dainty in her hand,
     An' as she passed me by, I heard her say,
     "I wonder what he THINKS—or if his head
     "Is just a piece o' metal, too!" She said
     It laughin'-like.
                        She didn't understand,
     She couldn't know that we have dreams as grand,
     As any SHE could have. We wonder where
     Th' rivets that we make are goin' to,
     An' if th' engine wheels we turn, will go
     Through tropic heat, or if they'll plow through snow;
     An' as we watch, we sorter grow to care
     About th' steel. Why it's as shiny blue
     As j'ew'ls! An' every bit is, well, a part
     Of life to us. Sometimes my very heart
     Thanks God that I've a man-sized job to do!