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This poem was taken from the
January 1948 issue of The Exciter
 (an Arkansas Power and Light publication for their employees).
Chris SistrunkView Icon Profile


A Tribute to the Lineman

Up on the storm-swept cross arm.
     There the wind blows wild and free,
A cowhide belt and a chip of steel
    'Twixt him and eternity.

When the thunder peals o'er the tree tops
    And lightning gleams on the hills,
It's then his work is awaiting him
    And he gets plenty of thrills.

When folks in houses cringe and shake
     Before the storm has passed,
He handles death at his fingertips
    To make the hot wires fast.

One slip of the hand and he's gone
    To at least long days of pain,
But let him get out and sure as sin
    He'll be up on the poles again.

There's times he holds in his very hands
    The life of a pal he loves,
And prays that he fails not in his trust
    By a flaw in his rubber gloves.

But for all of that he's a common guy,
    And very much carefree,
And he'll stick to you through everything
    The best pal you ever did see.

So sometimes in a thunder storm,
    When everything goes black,
Just think of the poor guy working hard
    To get those hot wires back.

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