Trains
I stand on a railway platform,
As two black trains come rolling in,
Roaring rapidly o’er the plains.
Braking in clouds of steam and smoke
They stop as if for me to choose.
One has come from out of the East.
I’d ride could it outpace the sun
To fresh faces and youthful places.
One has come from out of the West.
I’d ride could it outrace the dark
To past faces and former places.
I recall my youth, now long past,
And of the future down the tracks.
But for my route across the plains,
The train I pick will not matter:
Either will move me where I’m bound.
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