My Train - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
I'm riding on a choo-choo train
through valleys and through mountains
through fields of golden sugarcane,
conductor does the countin's.
The choo-choo whistles in the night
and blows its steam to Heaven,
up on the roof I fly my kite
I'm just about eleven.
Our voyage is to Italy
my folks below are sleeping,
the train enjoys the scenery
its headlights, though are weeping.
It ran, near Stuttgart on a rise
into a Saint Bernard.
The dog was sturdy but not wise
the weeping train hit hard.
A shower from the Milky Way
or thereabouts was dropping,
the tears of angels I should say
it keeps us humans hopping.
And on the throne in the caboose
a passenger was sitting,
his bowels had been rather loose
ergo he now was shitting.
Vulgarity, be chased away!
He was a friend of Burkitt
and ate his fibre foods all day,
ensuring he could work it.
But what I never shall forget
that ev'ning on the journey:
he busted on that toilet
his (holy shit!) McBurney.
Commotions come, commotions go,
I'd had enough excitement
and not a single soul below
knew what -to me- a kite meant.
I, when the train attacked a hill
near Alpine snow-capped boulders,
sucked oxygen into my gill
and raised my bony shoulders.
Lift-off complete, I had to peek
down to the locomotion,
the engine room looked very bleak
filled with such raw emotion.
I never saw another train
that wept in total sadness,
but then, I think I was not sane
as flying is a madness.
This is an inspired poem and gratitude is due.
Comments about My Train by Herbert Nehrlich
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You