The old engine let off a belch of steam,
A hiss and a pop and a resounding slop.
The wheels began to turn, all hands to the helm
As the whistle blew loud and people gathered round,
She careered down the track as men gathered back
Her pistons began to build as steam gathered yield
A thunder and a crack, there was no holding back
Matilda was fast and right on track.
Down the rails she roared.
Then beauty astound, there was countryside all around.
She went past a station and picked up some people who were weak and feeble.
Then went down the line all wrought and taught
And picked up a Lord who was solemn and bored
Then at the next station, ready and patient,
More people had gathered for poor old Matilda
She chugged along, and saw two men of the cloth
Who waved at Matilda along a small croft
Rain clouds had gathered at the girth of Loch Lomand
Which drenched poor Matilda all hammered and battered......with steam, valve and baton.
More steam did she 'drink', as the faster she turned.
Then tiredness came in one mighty pain
For Matilda had slowed as she gave a loud moan
To let us all know that it was time to go.
Her journey had started with one mighty hiss
All welcome was she..............
But to die on a track, there was no turning back
Many journeys she had made in more than a day
Her journey had ended, as it began;
A clap of a hand and a porter's cry.
Like woman's birth and a baby's cry
To salvage Matilda at her poor demise
Is the same as a man when scavengers rise.
To blow clean as a whistle or die in the thistles
A solemn disgrace is to die in a race, all battered and peeved
Without an embrace, no honour or grace........regardless of race
For a journey we take just like the train.
At times it is late and sometimes there's a gate,
To keep to our paths as long as we last.
Work too hard and we die just like the train,
All clogged with steam with too much esteem
Be it man or machine, our fates are the same.
The earth claims us all....both cogs and lords.
George (alias Jonah The Poet)
Linear Mode
