Upon the misty Cowlitz tide,
Where firs and cedars lean and sigh,
The Toledo steamed with engines proud,
Beneath the wide and open sky.

Born of Kellogg's daring dreams,
A vessel stout, of heart and steam,
She plied the river's winding seam,
A lifeline stitched in wood and gleam.

One hundred feet from stem to stern,
Two engines roared with mighty churn,
She carried hopes, and freight, and seed,
A vital thread for every need.

From Portland's bustling, muddy shore,
She ventured forth to wilds once more,
Once a week, then thrice she came,
With settlers chasing fortune's flame.

The Rochons watched her first approach,
A stately queen without reproach,
And in her honor, strong and free,
The town was christened Toledo, proudly.

She bore the dreams of pioneers,
Their wagons laden, hearts sincere,
Their goods to market, their supplies,
Beneath the rainy Northwest skies.

The Cowlitz tribes still watched her glide,
Upon the river, broad and wide,
A new song mingled with the old,
Of water's tale and journeys bold.

But time, relentless in its flight,
Brought rails and roads to break the night;
The river's reign began to wane,
The steamboats' voices dimmed with pain.

Her paddlewheels still churn the past,
Through fog and fields forever vast,
Where river whispers call her name,
And keep alight her fleeting flame.

Yet in the mists of memory,
The Toledo still steams proud and free,
A spirit carved of wood and steam,
A timeless thread within a dream.