A Railroader’s Christmas
T’was the night before Christmas, and out on the pike,
The Big Boy was covered, and so was the Mike.
And I had just chugged a few brews to get high,
Hoping that Old Santa Claus soon would come by.
Railroaders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While Moguls and Forneys danced in their heads.
And I and my loved one, forever to keep,
Had both cuddled up for a long winter’s sleep.
When out on the tracks there came such a roar,
I sprang from my bunk to see what’s in store!
I flew to the window and opened the blind,
Not knowing at all, what I would find.
The moon on the tracks shown like daylight below,
As wonder and amazement made my eyes grow.
For down on the rails approaching the station,
Came a jolly old man in a Consolidation.
This little old hogger, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
Faster than lightning, with power he came,
And he whistled and flashed and called them by name:
Come Forney, come Mogul, come Heisler, and Shay;
We gotta roll, we ain’t got until day!
To the top of the pressure gauge one and all,
Now stoke’em up, stoke’em up, we gotta haul!
Like a full load of coal will make a train fly,
When the fire is stoked and the crown sheet’s near dry.
So up the rails the Connie it flew,
Pulling a “gon” with gifts in it too.
Red paint on the cab, such sparkle, such shine,
The wood smooth as silk, the leather so fine.
The boiler so big, with wondrous sounds,
Nothing could keep him from making his rounds.
The tip of the stack was shiny and clean,
The windows were smoked, the glass such a sheen.
With features and options and power galore,
And zero to “highball” in just two-point-four.
And then from the tracks, the sound of a cough,
Like that of a turbine, when the steam is turned off.
He then set the brake and flashed the green lights,
Just as he does all Christmas Eve nights.
He was dressed in red leather, with fur up above,
A Connie embossed on his right driving glove.
Railroad-type toys slung on his back,
A multitude more in the cab in a sack.
He looked like ole’ Casey, a jolly old man,
With hair white as snow, a Miami tan;
Such gleam in his eye, such spring in his walk,
As quick as a cheetah, with eyes like a hawk.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work,
Opened the shed, with one quick easy jerk.
He left us some trains, a new starter set,
Some track, and some switches; the best you can get.
He sprang to his cab, threw his sack in the car,
Stoked up the fire, and pulled on the bar.
And I heard him call out as he highballed out of sight,
To all of you hoggers, “Drive safety!” “Good night!”