Train Whistle Blues
It paints a picture in my mind of the trains I grew up with as a boy,
later, riding sometimes in the cars, or between them in the night air.
And those I watched come to town as momentary visitors each day,
only to carry the folks inside, beyond me and my childhood dreams.
Never as a child had I the chance to own a single one as a toy,
so I just watched the real ones carving through the night so fair.
Like magic carpets they came and went to places I can not say,
moving towards tomorrows, that only others would know it seems.
Train Whistle Blues
Oh Johnn, I love this poem!! Wonderful.
It paints a picture in my mind of the trains I grew up with as a boy,
later, riding sometimes in the cars, or between them in the night air.
And those I watched come to town as momentary visitors each day,
only to carry the folks inside, beyond me and my childhood dreams.
Never as a child had I the chance to own a single one as a toy,
so I just watched the real ones carving through the night so fair.
Like magic carpets they came and went to places I can not say,
moving towards tomorrows, that only others would know it seems.
Day after day to work, I rode the train.
From Tonbridge to Londontown and back again.
Many tunnels we passed thru' on our daily run.
Looking back now . . . it was loads of fun.