“Tiny little thing isn’t it! Alas, judge it by its size is not the way to go!” Gun Roswell

Up the hill, real real slow
Down the hill, like the hard wind blows
The little engine flows

In the midst of winter
Like a tough young sprinter
No snow will it hinder

Achieving its daily goal
Wrapping the sleet around the pole
Even patching up a few holes

The little engine really can
Soon everyone is a fan
And winter, well no one gives a damn