The Originality Of George Stephenson (1781 - 1848.) Poem by DM W

George Stephenson was the one:
The gleaming soul of all motion;
Whose gnarled, hard, coal picking hands
Became soft & graceful with magic,
As he tinkered with primal machines,
Turning base metal into gold.

Stephen's Blucher drove at a snail's pace;
Compared to contemporary, speedy designs.
Yet still it was a giant stride
For evolving, human kind.

In 1814, in a monochrome world,
The first drowsy steam engine set off:
Puffing, hissing, spluttering up a steep hill
And easing with a sigh down the tracks;
Heroic in billowing clouds of smoke
With fire belching from its stomach;
Bold, black beauty of a restless Age;
Life would never be the same again!