I was fortunate to grow up in the days when steam locomotives
still plyed the railroad yards of Kansas City Kansas. Many a night I
would go to sleep listening to the chugging of those mighty engines
drifting up through the hollow near my home. Sometimes I would wake up,
late at night, and wonder what the whistles signaled. Those mighty "iron
horses" possessed a charisma diesels never will attain.
                    MEMORIES OF IRON HORSES
                               by
                          D. A. Clayton
                In the years of steam and pistons,
                I would lie awake in bed,
                Late at night, and hear those engines,
                Wondered what their signals said.
                Language of the locomotive:
                Blowing whistles, ringing bells.
                When I learned to understand it,
                Oh, what stories they could tell.
                Spouting sparks and smoke like dragons,
                What a grand and awesome sight.
                In my dreams I still can see them,
                Iron horses in the night.
                Magic of the locomotive:
                Drivers grappling with the rail.
                Shattering the midnight stillness,
                How that magic cast its spell.
                Old steam engines now are silent,
                On their rusty sidings stand.
                Iron horses out to pasture,
                They're no longer in demand.
                Memory of the locomotives,
                In those days when steam was king.
                Iron horses plying freight yards,
                Long before those diesels came.
                            (c) 1990
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