That Rambling Man
Been reminded of days gone by
when the doors were opened wide,
The endless rails called loud his name,
sent an iron horse to ride.
Geese were flying a mile above,
salmon were making their run;
People down at the corner store
dreamt of winters in the sun.
Preserves were stacked five jars high,
window screens are packed away;
They've gathered wood from fields afar
to keep freezing nights at bay.
Skates are sharpened for the ice,
snow sleds pulled down from the wall;
Some think about the distance gone
and how much it costs to call.
The prairies that were left behind
underneath the broad blue skies
Were forgot like towns bought and sold
with each ticket that one buys.
Those left to clear the frozen paths
still question where they belong,
They think about the miles passed by
and how far he may have gone.
Whispers of smoke now drift on high,
children gather 'round the fire;
Moms and dads dream of moving on
come the day when they retire.
Somewhere deep in a padded cell
sits a man without a name,
Been there since nineteen fifty nine
with his picture still unframed.
Of all the things he left behind,
a childhood is missed the most;
More now is lost than what's recalled
when the rails ran to the coast.
Tears often run down weathered cheeks,
spittle drops onto his vest;
He still can hear those whistles blow
on the trains that once moved west.
Copyright © Daniel Larson | Year Posted 2016