Oh for the giants of steam, Oh for the gleaming black wonders
I see them in many a dream as along the tracks they thunder
I stand at a crossing and listen, hoping to hear their sad cry
To see their steel bodies glisten as they proudly rush on by
They convey a sense of great power as they effortlessly pull their great loads
While nearby, cars and trucks cower and hug the safety of their roads
The “J’s” and the mighty “K’s”, the “W’s” and sturdy “AB’s”
Who could forget the days when there were such engines as these
To stand on the footplate’s exciting as they begin to get under way
To feel the cold wind biting; to feel the cabin sway
The track ahead is clear. Driver says “Take her up a notch”
Then comes the end of the line. She slows. She shudders. She stops
But the reign of these queens has passed, no more haunting banshee wails
These giants have breathed their last, soulless diesels now rule the rails
Yet memories live for so long, and on a quiet night it can seem
I hear, from afar, an old song, A ghostly echo, the sad voice of steam
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 12:12 AM UTC
Oh for the giants of steam, Oh for the gleaming black wonders
I see them in many a dream as along the tracks they thunder
I stand at a crossing and listen, hoping to hear their sad cry
To see their steel bodies glisten as they proudly rush on by
They convey a sense of great power as they effortlessly pull their great loads
While nearby, cars and trucks cower and hug the safety of their roads
The “J’s” and the mighty “K’s”, the “W’s” and sturdy “AB’s”
Who could forget the days when there were such engines as these
To stand on the footplate’s exciting as they begin to get under way
To feel the cold wind biting; to feel the cabin sway
The track ahead is clear. Driver says “Take her up a notch”
Then comes the end of the line. She slows. She shudders. She stops
But the reign of these queens has passed, no more haunting banshee wails
These giants have breathed their last, soulless diesels now rule the rails
Yet memories live for so long, and on a quiet night it can seem
I hear, from afar, an old song, A ghostly echo, the sad voice of steam
Js Ks Ws and ABs were just some of the classes of New Zealand steam locos when I was a kid
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