Ole Blue the locomotive on the Great Southwestern Line
attracted little work for he was way beyond his prime.
See, Blue he ran on steam like many others through the years,
but then those wretched diesels came, confirming all his fears—
that he was obsolete, and out to pasture he was put.
No longer could he bother folks with all that noise and soot.
They stuck him in the yard where ancient engines go to die,
and left him there to rust away, for time had passed him by.
He used to be the workhorse of the Great Southwestern Line.
He steamed from Tucumcari west to Tucson in his time.
And Blue was proud that he could haul about a hundred cars
all day beneath the searing sun, all night beneath the stars.
He steamed along majestically, Sonoran Desert-bound
and passed the great saguaros who, with reverence, bowed down.
Then chugging into Tucson with his whistle screaming loud,
Ole Blue the locomotive never failed to draw a crowd.
But now, with only memories of splendid days gone by,
he sat there rusting in the yard, but he refused to cry,
for gentle voices came to him that whispered on the air
and told him he was useful still and chased away despair.
They told him, “Blue, you never know when problems may evolve,
that, lacking any choices, they may call on you to solve.”
So, Blue perked up and held out hope they’d call on him once more
and promised he’d be ready for whatever was in store.
That time came soon enough, for there was trouble down the line:
A train sat stalled upon the tracks with very little time
to push it to a siding lest another train come through.
With not a single diesel near, they had to call on Blue.
Of course, it took some time to get his boiler going strong,
and by the time he’d built some steam, he hadn’t very long
to reach the stranded cars before a freight came rumbling through
to cause a great collision. Better hurry now, Ole Blue!
Finally, he reached the train, came up to its caboose,
and coupled to its coupling, then pushed hard to bust it loose.
So little time was left, a freight was speeding from behind,
but Blue just kept on pushing hard and put it out of mind.
It looked like he would make it to the siding, seen at last.
He had to really strain now, for the freight was barreling fast.
They reached the siding, and the train he pushed was now okay,
but Blue’d exhausted all his steam; he still was in the way!
The collision was spectacular. For miles and miles around,
folks heard the huge explosion—what a dreadful, awful sound!
It’s said that parts of Blue rained down for days and days to come.
This hero’s sad misfortune is enough to make you numb.
Ole Blue had done his best that day, his bravery it seems
was not enough to save him being smashed to smithereens.
He’d given up his life; a daring rescue was his fate—
to save another train but not himself at any rate.
We must admire Blue, though, for his can-do attitude.
Despite that he’d been pulverized, we owe him gratitude.
A voice assured him of his worth, and told him not to quit,
but use his great experience, his fortitude, and grit.
If you should happen on this site in Arizona land,
you might hear voices on the wind, lamenting what was grand.
Ole Blue remains a legend, and it’s certain that he should
because he’d come back from the dead, then died again for good.
