Train 8

Down to the bottom again
I just don’t think that’s right
The only train departed
 Half an hour now gone by
Nothing I can do
 It will never come round again
Unless I construct my own station
A little further up the line
 Built under star heavy skies
Built with no other purpose
 Than a single night ride
There must be a platform for the conductor
To usher me inside
As well as a bench to wait
 Carved entirely of pine
There must be a little white ticket booth
 With little ticket booth sign
 Now once this is completed
 Calloused hands can rest
I will purchase a ticket at fair cost
 Take a seat on the bench
 Where I’ll  pass my time
 Waiting for my train to come
And take me another few paces up the line
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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