The shiny rails are rusty now,
The crossties are rotting away,
But a memory remains somehow,
Of the great trains of yesterday.

The Wabash Cannonball,
George Alleys F F V,
Listen you can hear that whistle call,
"Tis the engine One Hundred Forty Three.

Number 97 still runs today,
Its legend never grows old,
In a different time and different way,
Its story still is told.

The Midnight Special still shines its light,
Upon sleeping prisoners so they say,
And who can forget that stormy night,
When the Moingona bridge washed away?

The Orange Blossom Special runs no more,
Down the Seaboard Line,
No hobo climbs through an open door
On that great train Number Nine.

The Southern Belle is standing now,
On a lonely forgotten spur,
But I still remember how,
I'd ride to New Orleans on her.

I remember the Mop's Silver Eagle,
And the Santa Fe's El Capitan
Times were hard but trains were regal,
As they carried us throughout the land.

I've ridden the Leadville Narrow Gauge,
And the blinds on that old SP,
But history has turned its page,
And these are but a memory.

©Richard