By Paul Harvey
February 3, 1986
What are their thoughts, these hardy souls tangled in knots on top of poles, sweating it out in a blend of blue, doing a job few would do?
What are their thoughts, this gallant crew, who risk their lives the long day through, in summer heat or winter snow, taking orders from afar and below?
What are their thoughts, these men of brawn, who joke and swear or hum a song, who know their distance well could e a rubber glove from eternity?
What are their thoughts at the close of day, as they scramble down and put hoods away? Do they thank God for the heart skipped beat, to feel the earth beneath their feet?
What are their thoughts as they head for home, longing once more to greet their own?
Surely they must feel some delight, knowing they helped turn darkness into light.