Tender packed with coal
My fire would burn, the flame releasing
Power through a spool
Of whirling steel, with engine oil
And when the tender emptied, and
The dark began to fall
I'd, satisfied, lie down: tucked in
A roundhouse for a shawl.
And there, would cease - my firebox sated -
Hollow and sublime.
My fuel away inside a tippler,
And hours and hours of time
To sleep towards th'Phoenix flame
Of morning's engineer,
To dream of water in my boiler
And the Coal-flame's sear
Across the ceiling of my heart --
Now cold as an ancient bier.
To be reborn, a heart must burn
Then cease to burn in death.
My tender parts, shut up too close,
Can't burn -- for lack of breath.
(Image by Osgoldcross)