Among the memories I hold dear,
Is the old steam thresher of yesteryear;
Looking back down Memory’s Lane
I stand on the platform once again,
Feeling the engine rock and sway,
It seems like only yesterday.
Up in the morning at break of day,
Building the fire, cleaning the flues;
Each morning the same, but different
too
Then blowing the whistle to call the
crew;
Watching the water, shovelling the coal,
A full head of steam, the fireman’s goal.
When the whistle blew to signal noon,
It seemed not one minute too soon;
The dinner table, what a joy!
It looked like heaven to a hungry boy!
But it was hurry up and stuff your face,
There’s a machine to oil and a belt to lace.
After dinner, again I stand
On the deck with the throttle in my
hand,
Feeling the raw brute power at my
command,
Answering to every touch of my hand
The work was dirty, the hours long,
The weather hot, and the cuss words
strong.
As evening shadows begin to fall
My thoughts return to memory’s hall,
I hear again the exhaust from the stack,
nd smell the coal smoke, strong and
black
I’d like to go back to that bygone
scene,
But alas! ’tis only an old man’s dream.
