Old Train Running

Amidst the night air, I hear the old train running, ghost like in the fog. She whistles her cry, like sounds of spirits weeping through the lonely wind. The soft whir of wheels, comforts my weary, worn soul, within the darkness. I am taken back, by the sweet sounds in the night, to my lost childhood, and with eyes closed now, I smile a bittersweet smile, and bask in my thoughts.