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