Fred is
multi-talented.
This just needs a melody to go with it:
The Saga of Engine Number Nine
a poem by Fred MorseI'm engine Number Nine
of Maine's Two-Footer fame.
I reside at Sheepscot Station
in the town of Alna, Maine.
I'd like to tell my story
from beginning to the end,
and I hope with all your kindness
I'll be able to run again.
I was born in Portland, Maine
in "1891",
‘twas the shores of Casco Bay,
where my life begun.
I was christened Number Five
and sent upon my way;
to the Sandy River Railroad,
that was to be my stay.
I ran the rails from Farmington to Phillips,
almost everyday,
keeping people happy
all along the way.
In "1908", that was the date,
that I really thought was swell,
I had more track to travel on,
and my number changed as well.
From Number Five to Number Six
when my company did combine,
The Sandy River Railroad
and the Phillips and Rangeley line.
For many years I traveled these rails
with passengers galore,
I carried the mail and freight,
and also much much more.
I blew my whistle and rang my bell
as I'd pass through the towns,
and people waved and cheered me on,
as I would make my rounds.
Alas! In "1925"
my life would change again,
I went to the Kennebec Central line,
as it was known back then.
They made me Number Four,
as it seemed the thing to do,
and I started work all over again
with a brand new crew.
I pulled many loads of coal
from the shores of Randolph, Maine,
to our nation's "soldier's home",
Togus was its name.
Passengers, as well as freight,
were also pulled by me.
I worked real hard until "‘29",
then rested till "‘33".
My life was then to change again,
it seemed that it was so,
I was always kept a running
and always on the go.
I was sent to the Sheepscot Valley
to the Wiscasset, Waterville and Farmington line.
The railroad to the coast it was,
and I felt that it was fine.
I became engine Number Nine,
away with Number Four,
and that's the number I have
now, and forevermore.
My work on the Two-Foot railroad
ended mighty quick,
for part of my poor old frame
got really very sick.
And then in early June,
the 15th to be sure,
number Eight went off the track
and the railroad closed its door.
I thought my days were numbered,
as well they might have been,
if it hadn't been for a railfan,
who had spotted me right then.
I was taken to Connecticut
and put inside a barn,
and there I sat for many years
upon the Ramsdell farm.
After all those years of slumber
my luck has changed again,
I've returned to Sheepscot Station,
I remembered, way back when.
Each summer Saturday morning,
I'm pushed outside the door,
and there I set watching Number Ten,
go by me with a roar.
I'd love to be upon those tracks
heading for Alna Center,
but "alas" there's work to do
before that phase I'll enter.
I'm told that a brand new boiler
will get me on my way,
so now we have to have some funds
to really make my day.
Being engine Number Nine
with all those years of rest,
I've come up with a plan,
I really think is best.
Both old and young should have a chance
to help me to succeed,
a small donation of nine dollars each,
would help me in my need.
So keep those coins aflowing
right into Sheepscot, Maine,
and before you'll even know it,
I'll again be the head of a train.
Your names shall all be entered in a log,
on the station desk,
and I hope to have ten thousand names
to help me in my quest.
That log I'll carry with me,
when I am on my way,
T'will travel to Alna Center
because You've made my Day!
Source:
https://wwfry.org/projects/9rebuild.html.bak
