Train Poem by Rich Harney

The train

Across the tops of yellow stalks
At length were a vanishing sight,
And swinging just nigh a boy talks
To no one and something of light.

There again as the swing is high
And low as the chain dipping down
A silver streak would tip the sky
And lose him the boy gaining ground.

The boy in his mind so cheerful
In up seeing silver of air
Down,in the eye a bit tearful
As the streak to be seen, nowhere.