The Little Engine

We thought our cogs fit,
Forming the perfect gear
With optimal torque.
And as the larger one spun,
The smaller one would too—
A perpetual turning
Towards one another.
We believed this little engine
Would run forever.

An incline would appear
And we’d charge:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
And we could.

Some teeth would grind,
But with the right amount of oil,
We would maintain our little engine
And take solace in the lessened effort
Of the impending descent.

A hill would arise
And we’d churn:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
And we could.

The continual friction took its toll
And the gear in our little engine
Would slip on occasion.
We misjudged the backlash,
But we had momentum
And that would be enough.
That should have been enough.

A mountain would erupt
And we’d chug:
We think we can.
We think we can.
We think we can.
We couldn’t.