Tonight there's a haunting echo,
like a whisper from the past--
the cry of a whistle blowing,
a note that lingers after the last.
Seeking not to be forgotten,
it reaches out to touch my mind,
a memory now faded
but still close enough to find:
Of iron horses running
on tracks of tempered steel,
as round and round are running
the never-ending wheels.
Of sentinels along the tracks--
endless lines of wooden poles,
connecting parted family members
through wires, and Morse's code.
Of bridges strong and mighty
that crossed the deepest gorge,
and tunnels long and narrow
through which the engines roared
Of men who did their duty
through freezing night and scorching day,
keeping coal fires burning
and lighting lamps to show the way.
Of crashes and disasters
events they never planned.
Of the great courage and bravery
of a now-forgotten man.
Of wide-eyed children gazing
at the scenery rushing by,
and girls who wished away the miles
till into loving arms they fly.
Even as the moon is setting
and the fog is growing thin,
the echoes are receding
behind today's cacophonous din.
© Rebecca Kletzing
