Obituary: 697 Poem by Doug Stewart

The last steam engine dies with a puff and a sigh,
sanders dump their loads as drivers scream a skidding stop,
coming down from her last ride, vacuum brakes lose pressure
as the crowd breaks into applause, at that last Iron Horse.

Sanders dump their loads as drivers scream to a skidding stop.
The Fireman closes the iron boiler door, solitary tear in his eye
as the crowd breaks into applause, at that last Iron Horse.
And the Engineer sips ancient whisky from a silver flask.

The Fireman closes the iron boiler door, solitary tear in his eye.
The crowd moves slowly along the rusty fence while
the Engineer sips ancient whisky from a silver flask.
Steam is long gone now, and the back porch women in red

no longer wave, firemen no longer shovel black coal, but
coming down from her last ride, vacuum brakes lose pressure, old
Number 697 sees the approaching night and pulls to rest.
The last steam engine dies with a puff and a sigh.