A lonely train whistle is heard in the night,
dreamers are tempted to up and take flight.
To places like Nashville where town folks all say
a good country picker can have a hay day.
Then down to New Orleans where girls who can dance,
are put on the stage and given the chance.
The whistle says next time, or so it seems,
leaving a longing for unfulfilled dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem