Little Hydrant Man
At the corner of busy streets
He is silent most every day
But when he gets to speak
Words he proudly sprays
Always ready to speak his mind
He’s pressured some to yell
And trucks pull up next to him
To fill their giant pails
He is the fountainhead
And gushes all he can
With water all down the street
From the expressive little man
He is a man red or silver
Determined to stop all flames
With a fireman’s giant wrench
The tool that always drains
After all the excitement
The little man can recline
With the quiet restored again
Until the fire next time