by John Yeo
I climb upwards and upwards, breathless,
I work my way to the top
The view from up here is priceless
It is a very high life from the cab.
Over two hundred metres high in the air
I am lord and master of all I survey,
The hoist is like a mechanical chair.
From high above, the city looks drab.
My machine is equipped with the finest hoist,
A huge bucket, wire and chains.
In the high stormy rain the air is moist
The sharp winds cut and viciously stab.
The signaller below, when the load is ready
Calls on the radio. Lift off. Lift and shift!
I manipulate the levers, keeping steady
Guiding the pick-up to the target slab.
It is a lonely contemplative life at the top,
There is much danger in my working conditions.
One false move and the load would drop
Causing much death and mayhem, below.
Copyright © written by John Yeo~ All rights reserved