Gentlemen,
Considering the serious topic at hand, I thought I would share a 'pome' I wrote back in the early 1980's for a 2-rail friend who died suddenly and quietly, as a passenger in the front seat on the way home from a train show, where he'd had a grand time.
His funeral was like nothing I'd ever seen before, nor since. He was laid out on a large table, surrounded by flowers. Cradled in each arm were two of his very favorites: A Southern Pacific E7 A&B Daylight set, and an SP 4-8-2 Mountain with Vanderbilt long-haul tender. It was his wife's idea.
Would that we all had such spouses, ja?
Anyway, here it is:
THE LAST RUN
We're sad 'cause our friend
has come to the end
of the mainline we all know as time.
He's gone through the bore
that we all must explore,
and that's why I've written this rhyme.
If ever you'd met him,
You'd never forget him...
he was really a likeable guy.
Now he's made his last run,
the very last one,
on the rails which lead up to the sky.
To a thousand track yard,
where the work isn't hard,
and the couplers will grab every time.
Where the pops are all lifting
on steam engines drifting
up a maximum 1% climb.
Where no-one's uptight,
and the boss is polite
to the hogger as well as the fare.
Where the lifters don't jam,
and the siderods don't slam,
and there's always plenty of air.
Where the lights up ahead
will never show red
"HIGHBALL...they're all wearin' green!"
Where the cab never swerves
on three-degree curves
'cause the hog will instictively lean.
It's where flues never leak,
and the journals don't squeak,
and the lagging shows nary a dent.
And though he is gone,
his memory stays on,
and I think we all know where he went.
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As the author, if anybody wishes to use it, printed or recited, please feel free to do so. I hope it goes a long way.
All the best,
Mark in Modesto (68)
