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THE BULLDOZER

"It's my way or the highway,"
The rugged dozer growled.
And, Saturday through Friday,
His steaming engine howled.

The smaller trucks and those on foot,
He shoved out of his way
To dig up dirt and smut and soot
In his great power-play.

The dozer tooted his own horn
And blasted through each wall,
For boundaries, he eyed with scorn;
Himself, he raised o'er all.

He dug his way through mountains high
And plowed a path in snow.
He puffed and chugged and barreled by
Where e'er he dreamed to go.

Eventually, with passing years,
The bulldozer was rusted,
Til he became a pile of gears;
His mighty bulk was busted.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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