Turbojet Lament Poem by Sebastian Seal

The howl of your turbine,
The crackle of your jet,
Your sound tingles my spine,
You're the best engine yet.

The air goes through your intake,
And into your axial compressor,
Not for any old sake,
But to Increase your internal pressure.

As the air enters your combustion chamber,
You mix it with some fuel.
It explodes, but you never rupture.
That's what makes you effectual.

The expanding gases,
Flow through your turbine.
Which drives your bit that compresses,
And makes your wonderful whine.

You will sing with kerosene for fuel,
But you'll terribly cough and splutter,
If force-fed bowls of gruel,
Or ingest bread and butter.

Maybe you like too much to drink,
And make a lot of noise,
But at least you never stink,
Nor make your cowling from corduroys.

You powered the Comet and the Vulcan
You powered the graceful Concorde.
You were then replaced by the turbofan
of which my ears are bored.