rumbling and grumbling,
old iron ore trains
wind through the woods
with their aches and their pains;
huffing and puffing,
they still carry on,
stealing the show–
and then they are gone.
–photo by me
old trains
rumbling and grumbling,
old iron ore trains
wind through the woods
with their aches and their pains;
huffing and puffing,
they still carry on,
stealing the show–
and then they are gone.
–photo by me
michaeljordahl 
Love the picture! And the words…
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Thank you much!
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wonderful wonderful wonderful pic and poem
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Thank you so much, John!
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you know, Michael, it’d be fabulous if the local Arts Council put up an exhibition of your pics and poems as part of a Festival; maybe speak to a relevant Councillor; it would be a draw-card —
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I’m such an invert, I tend to shy away from people. That’s why having a blog is perfect for me, but that’s quite a compliment. Thank you!!
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that’s fine, Michael: I’m impressed by your work: I’m an appreciator 🙂
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I agree with John. Wholeheartedly!
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Awesome.
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Thank you, Adam!
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Much like us it seems! Great poem Michael.
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Yea, I almost used moaning and groaning too like us old-timers!
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Ha ha… yes, just like us!
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Hmm…..sounds like me when I get out of bed in the morning!
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Me too, Sandy!
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Love the train rumblings and mumblings, too! Always look forward to your photos! Happy day!
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Thank you, Lane!
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I’ve never been on a train but it sounds so fun. Great poem.
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Thank you much, Pooja!
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My pleasure!
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Excellent poem Michael. When iron ore was carried by trains from Adams Mine on tracks a couple of streets from our home, we certainly knew when they passed by. You’ve captured the experience so well. 👏
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I grew up on the Iron Range where ore trains were ubiquitous. Thank you, Shelley!
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You’re welcome Michael and thank you for inspiring me to dig up the meaning for the word ubiquitous 😁
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