Towering I stand 

And gaze around,

The sky above

Below the ground.

None of my kind

In vision's range,

Except below

Where all seem strange.

Not of my kind

They seem to be,

But rather

Some strange fantasy.

I read my fate

To stand alone,

When all the rest

Have gone, have gone.

I will alone

In grandeur stand,

To serve mankind

Throughout the land.

I gave through mist

Of years to come,

And see myself

Excelled by none.

Serving your children

As I serve you,

And their children's children

The ages through.

Strong as the mountain peak

I stand,

Alone, alone

In solitude grand.

The years will come

With naught to throttle,

I stand alone

An Owens Bottle.


Poem written for the 4th annual convention of salesmen for the Owens Bottle Company, 1923.  Author unknown

Last Updated: 6/9/16