Railway Station

A once proud and busy place built to help the daily race, railway tracks, like welcoming arms always there day or night. Stationmaster always busy sweeping the platforms, picking up litter, tending to the flower gardens oh so proud of all his creations. Came the day such sad news, no longer needed what would he do. Looking up and down the tracks no sounds of approaching trains, birds still sang no changes for them station would become a memory. Grass and weeds take over a once loved place no humans no trains such a lonely state. Windows like eyes peered into space why me, why me, winds sang imaginary sounds changes called progress, sweeping the land, railway stations joining history. Dead of night, the wind pays a visit imagination like the sound of lost souls. Stationmaster revisits his domain, broken glass, rusted gutters hanging down like tears of disaster. He imagines all the scenes gone by he falls asleep in the peaceful scene never to wake from his wonderful dreams.