Morning light pounds the earth into mine eyes,
I see something black on the rise,
Her deafening roar, shakes off the mountains above,
White hair billowing in its own rush,
The pride of man slowly grinds to a halt,
And her imposing presence rumbles to be felt,
Her boddess is crowned by one fiery light,
Bosom and curves,
Wrapped in a black corset of night, her green and gold dress trails on down behind,
Riding a road of two stone cold steel lines,
She’s the pride of the industry,
A legend always to be told,
Her portrait adorning the walls of both those young and old,
But by now my eyes are truly awoken,
With this vision of grandeur they find their sight stolen,
Her terrifying majesty,
Leaves with a following hush,
Except for the quickened thud-thud that still beats in my heart
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem