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.
Fog of Time
Like sweet soft caresses, the mist slips around me,
enfolding me gently in a shifting gossamer curtain.
Things are there and then their not, a true mystery,
and one now seems oh so far from life so uncertain.
Whispering zephyrs speak so softly of what might be,
and I listen with a quiet mind to the hidden nuances there.
I search with such an open heart, wonders there to see,
to catalog them each amid the sweet whiteness with care.
Time moves into the distance, as the mists enfold us,
and we travel farther now within then without, at last.
We play along the edges of Destiny I wryly must confess,
in the mist of Fate, beside Time’s surging sea it will pass.
"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."
Trains, carrying memories and dreams to far off places through time itself.