Author -
Submitted By -The Poem
Thought I'd send in a poem one of our troublemen gave me. His name is Chip Chilvers.
I've been on the sticks,
walked wood with the best,
in vaults or on towers,
been put to the test.
Worked thru the weather,
in hard blowin' cold,
past the heat of the summer,
when linemen get bold.
Seen some get careless,
loose respect for their trade,
some didn't make it,
some took first aid.
The bunch in the middle,
you know who you are,
still walk with a swagger,
but carry a scar.
When I hang up my hooks,
and tip my last cup,
all I can hope for,
is to go out standing up.