time was when my wheels were polished
by mile upon mile of steel rail;
when before my pilot lay the entire
Dominion, mare ad mare, sea to sea;
when with a fire in my belly and a head
of superheated steam at the throttle i
pounded the main, Halifax to Vancouver

time was when, in smoke and thunder,
i raced across the wide, rolling prairies
hauling fancy varnish or fast freight;
when people told time by my passing;
when the long lonesome sound of my voice
inspired school boys or broke a maiden's heart.

But now, cold and lonesome, i lie in this park:
Cold. No steam, no smoke, no fire, now,
warmed only by the blessed, benevolent sun.
My track ends a foot beyond my couplers
lest the useless relic that I have become
get a run at it and break this prison...