The Second Tracklayer and Trackpuller

In the morning I left, going towards the sun.
From the town I attempted to run.
Not far out of the western gate,
I saw two people not resigned to fate.
The squabbled in garble without sense,
Between them, I made my body a fence.
“Why are you arguing?” I asked.
“I am the Tracklayer, and I was told
A few years ago by a leader bold,
To go out and lay tracks nigh,
Until the day that I would die.
This man I fight is the Trackpuller,
Who’s purpose in life is fuller
Of malice towards me than the great foe,
Who lives in the fiery depths below.
He says that we should go to the North;
I think to the south we should go forth:
And so we argue day to day.
Until one of us should pass away.”
“You go south,” my finger showed,
“And you go north along the road.”
“I think that’ll do,” said the Tracklayer
“If wisdom were your business I’d be a payer”
“I agree,” said the Trackpuller
“May your wisdom always endure.”
Be it your judgment, you can see
Were it not for the likes of me
Those two men would surely have died:
That they’d have killed themselves implied.
The man in the town, would soon have starved
If not for the food that I imparted.
Maybe to keep them alive is a sin
They then were wicked down to a grin.
The man that went north saved four
Who in a mine were pinned to the floor.
The man who went south built a dam,
And saved the people of Algamam.
The man in the town wrote a book.
This gave people a second look
At what evils can be caused by man,
The smartest of the animal span.
Sometimes you need to lend assistance,
To the wickedest of attendants.