Poetry 101

The Little Blue Engine

The little blue engine looked up at the hill.

His light was weak, his whistle was shrill.

He was tired and small and the hill was tall,

And his face blushed red as he softly said,

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

So he started up with a chug and a strain,

And he puffed and he pulled with a might and a main.

And slowly he climbed, a foot at a time,

And his engine coughed as he whispered soft,

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

With a squeak and a creak and a toot and a sigh,

With an extra hope and an extra try,

He would not stop-now he neared the top-

And strong and proud he cried out loud,

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!"

He was almost there, when-CRASH! SMASH! BASH!

He slid down and mashed into engine hash

On the rocks below . . . which just goes to show

If the track is tough and the hill is rough,

THINKING you can just ain't enough!

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By Shel Silverstein