In Your Iron Veins.

Behold, iron steed,
Roaring power through the land,
Tracks tremble in awe.

Smoke trails to the sky,
Lionhearted engine’s might,
Courage on the rails.

Metal behemoth,
Whistles echo through the mist,
Bringing dreams to life.

Oh, mighty locomotive!
Born of steel, powered by fire,
A symphony of motion.

In your iron veins,
Pulses a heart that beats with pride,
Resilient and strong.

From coast to coast,
You carry the dreams of many,
Their hopes intertwined.

Through mountains, you soar,
Conquering every obstacle,
With unwavering warmth.

Each track you embrace,
Leaves a trail of memories,
Stories yet untold.

For you are not just
A mere machine of metal,
But a vessel of dreams.

Your whistle’s lament,
A symphony that pulls at souls,
Like a siren’s call.

Oh, iron steed,
In your presence, we witness
The triumph of will.

So let us stand here,
In awe of your majesty,
As you roar on by.

For in your essence,
A timeless spirit resides,
Unyielding and free.

Behold, iron steed,
The embodiment of courage,
Infinite power.

Steve Halstead.

Steam.

The steam engines’ mighty roar,
Stealing through the hills and moors,
A symbol of power and industry,
The Victorian dream of efficiency.

Yet now, their reign has come to an end,
Their once-mighty power is on the wane.
The world moves on, the future arrives,
And the steam engine’s legacy remains.

But oh, how it played its part,
The throbbing heart of a grand design,
A time when progress was the theme,
And innovation held the key.

The demise of steam is bittersweet,
A sadness tinged with a hint of awe.
The Victorian dream lives on,
And we’re better for what went before.

Steve Halstead.

Steam.

The old days linger in our minds
A time when steam engines ruled the lines
The chug and hum of the boiler breathing
Our world was built by their screaming and heaving

In the industrial museum, we see
The past is preserved for all to be
The engines that once powered the land
Now stand silent, looking so grand

The smell of oil and rusting steel
Evoke memories, of how they appealed
Of a time gone by, but not so long ago
When progress was seen as more than a show

We hear the echoes of the men who toiled
The sweat and tears that they boiled
For the sake of their families and their dreams
As they worked under the steam’s mighty beams

The nostalgia of the old days
Lives on in these machines and ways
The industrial museum’s walls
Remind us of our past, and how we’ve evolved

Steve Halstead.

In The Old Days

In the old days of steam engines and mines,
The men would work the long in hard times,
With sweat on their brow and dirt on their hands,
They toiled to extract the riches from the lands.

Their bodies strained and their souls grew tired,
But they persisted, fueled by a passion inspired,
For they knew that their labour would create,
A future for their families, a better fate.

And yet, with the promise of progress and gain,
Came the all-too-familiar tale of pain,
Strikes and protests, the struggle for rights,
As the workers stood up against the might.

Chants and slogans could be heard in the air,
As they fought for justice, a fair share,
And their solidarity, their strength and might,
Would go down in history as a righteous fight.

Now, looking back with nostalgia in our hearts,
We remember the sweat, tears grime and hurt,
The steam engines and mines that shaped the land,
And the workers whose struggles we now understand.

Steve Halstead.