All day long they wielded their shovels

shielded their eyes from the lowering sun

all day long they watched for signals

embracing the levers 'til day was done. 

 

They pricked the fire to goad it more

snapped back the door like a lion's cage

until the thrusting lusting pistons

ached with steam and latent rage. 

 

Each man his place and time a rhyme

with looks and nods acros the plate

of rhythm and rails, hard men's tales

the master of the passengers' fate. 

 

Where did they go, where did they go?

said the sky to the trees and the rivers below,

some to diesels some to yards,

no more to watch the firebox glow.

 

They like to pass their memories down

when like us all their eyes grow dim

inspiring youth with wider views

with the thrum of the rails and the railway hymn.