Steam puffing up,
she winds her way -
a moving cacophony
of rattles and blasts -
on railway track
through the trees,
over the clearings,
between stiff climb
and straight fall
on either side.
Fire inside the belly,
she clatters on,
screeching shrilly,
signing her signature
with the ink
of an antique persona -
a tag of history,
still a nostalgic fancy
caught on pistons
rolling in regal dignity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem