I Hear The Train Whistle Fading - Poem by Connie Yost
Old Beamer half-heartedly barks.
'Your mamma's a very kind lady.'
A gentleman warmly remarks.
His thin shaking hands badly fumble,
Removing his misshapen old hat.
His manner is passive and humble,
As he stands on our welcome mat.
I decide to politely un- notice,
The buttons are missed from his suit.
I hear him give thanks for his blessings,
Then I ask if he likes Mamma's soup.
'It's scrumptious, ' he said,
'And so is the butter and bread'.
Quite suddenly then, his dinner is done,
Except for the, 'Pie? Oh my, I haven't pie,
Since......nineteen and forty-one! '
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