Construction Workers

High on the driver's seat of a big machine, They guide the power that closes a ravine, Uproots a forest, or cuts down a hill; At their command the giant buckets fill And empty, and old rivers change their courses.

How does it feel to drive a hundred horses And know such royal power? It must be hard On Saturdays to put aside kingly ways, Trim a rosebush, mow a small square of yard!