Between two soaring glassy towers
The golden sun arises fair,
And all the city blooms up yellow
As early workers glide in there.
Out of their cars they’re lightly stepping
With smiles of joy for waking day,
And one, named Mark, has pressed a button—
Now bells how sweet are tinkling gay.
This Mark is only eight and twenty,
But all this month he starts the show,
For last month he made tons of money,
Much more than any CEO!
His secretary buys him coffee,
Then up they to their office ride,
With praises from the competition
And “Wish you wells” from every side.
The city hums with love of business
As independent men take aim
To do their best and make a profit,
And flash to full with inner flame!
Down on the street at every newstand
The Objective Standard’s selling hot;
The headline reads, “New Pipeline Finished”—
More independent fuel we’ve got!
The flower girl’s sold all her roses;
Buds this whole day her very own
To sway down to the Hall of Artists
And see her heroes made of stone.
Not fully looking where she’s going,
She bumps into an elder man.
Says he, with eyes like sparkling diamonds,
“Be calm, my dear, you’ll get your man.”
She bends and kisses his smooth forehead,
Then off again she swings and flies,
Not seeing little shining sparklets
That magnify those diamond eyes.
Up in his office Mark is thinking;
He’s got another deal in tow.
He winks out to his secretary
Who lightly laughs and gasps, “Oh no!”