Train

Across the countryside, I hear,
The whistle of the train.
It sounds upon the evening air,
With loosened brakes, to gain.

The distance of its miles,
By its inward, surging power.
So like a phantom ray,
That comes upon the hour.

And circles through the farm-land,
With a business to get done.
Wheels rattling to a rhythm,
To make a scheduled run.

I often stand to listen,
As it goes upon its way.
I'm amazed at its comotion,
How it rallied in its day.

Pouring noise upon the evening,
Something...sort of holds me fast.
For I feel that with the coming,
It is purring from the past.


E.P. 1908 - 1989