Classic Poem

IF YOU WANT to live in the kind of a town
That's the kind of a town you like,
You needn't slip your clothes in a grip
And start on a long, long hike.

You'll find elsewhere what you left behind,
For there's nothing that's really new.
It's a knock at yourself when you knock your town;
It isn't your town — it's you.

Real towns are not made by men afraid
Lest somebody else gets ahead.
When everybody works and nobody shirks
You can raise a town from the dead.

And if while you make your stake
Your neighbor can make one, too,
Your town will be what you want to see,
It isn't your town — it's you.