In Kaiser's heart, a snail turned round its shell,
Their healing hands, to labor halls return,
Though victory's song they might or might not tell,
Yet no contract can quench their passion's burn.
As rabbits when the moonbeams beckon play,
So, stocks do dance at closing bell's sweet tune,
Each index, a goat, in gambol does display,
For job's report has strummed a jolly tune.
And in Detroit, the dogs their howls suppress,
No more to walkout's growling they yield sway,
Negotiations carve a path from mess,
Tales of progress we hear the UAW say.
