In times oft-forgotten great freight trains rolled through.
Each boxcar was tagged in a swashbuckling hue,
Flamboyantly hawking some stale, mawkish view.
Now all that remains is the desolate track.
Our eeriest memories’ ethereal track.
Those heart-pounding engines, in Santa Fe red!
Their sheer mass of metal would thrill me with dread.
With full sound and fury they powered and led,
Not seeing they followed that rigid steel track.
Time’s mindlessly marching, immovable track.
I wonder too often just where they’ve all gone.
What exploits or griefs will their odysseys spawn?
Then, hearing their whistle, I’m fearlessly drawn.
I shadow their ghosts up the unexplored track.
Our haziest days’ inevasible track.
Ed Morris, 2018
This page copyright © 2018 Edward A. Morris. Created December 7, 2018. Last updated December 9, 2018.
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