Railroaders poem



SAMBUSA

TATTOO'D WHITE TRASH
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My engine now is cold and still,
No water does my boiler fill.
My coke affords its flame no more,
My wheels deny their wonted speed,
No more my guiding hand they heed;
My whistle - it has lost its tone,
Its shrill and thrilling sound is gone;
My valves are now thrown open wide,
My flanges all refuse to glide;
My clacks - alas! Though once was strong,
Refuse their aid in the busy throng;
My steam is now condensed in death;
Life's railway o'er, each station past.
In death I'm stopped, and rest at last.

This is on a gravestone of an engineer who was killed on Nov. 4 1853
 


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