Atop the hill stands a small tower of concrete,
An old triangulation point waiting to greet
Those weary souls who’ve dragged their feet
Up the steep slope
To check out the view.
It served a useful purpose once, many years ago,
When someone decided they had to know
The layout of the land, as though
Where they’d left it.
It serves a useful purpose still, for when
I drag my bones up to the top, puffin’ and pantin’,
It gives me something to lean upon
And catch my breath,
‘Cause I’m fair puckled.
And on those days when it’s blowing a gale,
And I’m holding my hat and my flying coat tail,
When the bag on my back acts like a sail,
I stand behind it,
To get some shelter.
To you land surveyors of yesteryear,
Taking your bearings from tower to tower,
Who decided to put that trig point there,
I’m glad you did,
It comes in handy.