Another Poem

I'm not sure when my love affair with the railroad first started. We have lived next to the train tracks since I was four. I've been to numerous railroad museums, had a couple of train rides, watched the trains working daily outside my house, and ridden on the area bike trails which are converted railroad lines. But my favorite part of it all is railroad history, and how it ties into local history. Sometimes in the silence along those bike trails with the old mile markers along the way, or in the dead of night when you can hear a train whistle far, far away in the distance, I feel like the past is almost close enough to touch.

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