When we were kids, we’d peek inside
At the engine with some fear;
And watch the wheels go round and
round
Oh, the life of an Engineer.
The piston moving back and forth,
How often you have said these words –
Oh, the life of an Engineer.
But little did you realize
What went with that career
For if you did, you wouldn’t say —
Oh! The life of an Engineer.
When other folks have went to bed
To pound a weary ear
He’s leaving home to go to work —
Oh! The life of an Engineer!
He oils ‘er up, she’s running fine
So good he’d like to cheer
The fireman yells the water’s gone —
Oh! The life of an Engineer!
Holidays or Sundays, all are the same
On the job he must appear
He’s working while you’re having fun
Oh! The life of an Engineer!
There’s times he just gets into bed —
When his wife says – John, my dear,
Big Joe is sick, come back to work —
Oh! The life of an Engineer!
He studies steam And fuels from far and near
It’s study, study all his life Oh! The life of an
Engineer!
He goes to meetings and what not
To try to get it clear
Just how to save his boss some dough
Oh! The life of an Engineer!
So when you peek inside again —
Please do not let me hear
You ever say those words again —
OH! THE LIFE OF AN ENGINEER!
By C. E. Walters
THRESHING ENGINES RUNNING
The following poem was sent by the courtesy of E. M. Peacock,
Fulton, Mo., with this bit of information about the author, Mr.
Lloyd Carleton Shank, P.O.Box 95, Bolivar, Missouri.
‘He loves poetry and has written about one thousand poems to
date, many of them appearing in local papers and magazines. He has
a book of poems off the press called Fireside Poems’. ($2.95)
Seventy nine High Schools and fourteen colleges have bought
them.’
From over the fields at early morn,
The shocks of grain and waving corn,
A whistle sounds to pierce the air
And we know the threshing crew is there.
We hurry out to that handsome machine
And catch a whiff of escaping steam
Then we’re all keyed up for a happy day
To enjoy our threshing in old fashioned
way.
The engine puffs and slows a bit
Whenever the heaviest bundles hit
The whirling cylinder of that grand
machine
Then spins along again serene.
The farmers’ wive join in the fun
To fry many a chicken brown and done
For all the men and threshing crew
Are eager to help with that dinner too.
Memory turns to those joys we had
When we were boys on the farm with dad.
And no other thrills will ever seem
Like those purring engines full of steam.
Lloyd Carleton Shank
Poet of the Hills
