Sal

He came to work each morning before the rising sun,
Went home when it was late at night, with things yet to be done.
His factory is quite smallish, employing twenty-five,
And we all know he is the man who keeps our jobs alive.

Machines he had invented, he showed us how to guide;
He urged us to be competent and fill our minds with pride.
He got us brand new orders for what we fashion sure,
And pushed us to work harder, and paid us even more.

Then came a trouble-maker, a union man, he said.
Walked in to organize us, but we were seeing red.
We poured hot tar upon him, gray feathers made a coat,
And he was really flying, while kicking like a goat!

Sal came and stood beside us, and we were glad to hear
Our boss’s hearty laughter ring out so loud and clear.
“My men,” he said, “you’re really, really something very great—
True individual masters of your own honest fate.”

And then I spoke (yours truly), with admiration high,
“We’re selfish, and we’re happy, and you’re the reason why.”

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