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(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950 / Rockland / Maine / United States)

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Travel

The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003
Edited: Thursday, May 05, 2011


Read poems about / on: red, sleep, sky, travel, night, heart, dream, friend

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Comments about this poem (Bluebeard by Edna St. Vincent Millay )

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  • Maynard James Keller (2/26/2014 1:14:00 PM)

    One of my faves for over 50 years and running....

    Brings back a lot of associations with the period, wonderful old beaux arts train stations, childhood adventures in sleeper cars, etc....

    2 person liked.
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