Twas
the night before
Portland and all through the land
not an
engine was cranking,
not even by hand.
The campers
were nestled
all snug in their trucks
awaiting the
swapmeet
to spend a few bucks.
At last
in the morning
the time had arrived
to see
people to talk
with and iron to buy.
To look at
the engines
and tractors and steam,
from
Fairbanks to Farmall,
and all in between.
Past
castings, and fenders,
and French & Hecht wheels,
walked
thousands of tinkerers
hoping for deals.
The
contraptions, and
gizmos, the flying Norwegian!
There's too
much to write
about; you just have to see 'em.
Then
promptly at one there
arose such a clatter
I looked up
from my sweetcorn
to see what was the matter.
And there
ran the mightiest,
grandest of things--
a
hundred-horse engine,
puffing perfect round rings.
Now
Cockshutt, now Moline,
now John Deere and Fordson!
Then Oliver,
Allis, Massey,
and moresome!
From the tip
of the drawbar
to the front of the grille,
they spoke
of our history
and the bonds we share still.
I shook
hands with my friends
as the sun headed down
then I
walked to my car
at the edge of the grounds.
And I
thought to myself
as I put it in gear,
"I hate to
be leaving,
but I'll come back next year."