IN parting from a dear old friend for months, perhaps, or years,
There's bound to be some bitter sobs, an' generally tears,
An' as a rule, the lovin' ones will gather round about
The station, softly cry in' while the train is pullin' out;
Oh, it's so hard to say good-bye, an' kiss each tender cheek,
Coz there's a lump in every throat, an' no one dares to speak.
Good-bye is always hard to say to friends you know are true,
But ten times harder when the train that waits for them's in view.
When comes the time for me to go upon a little trip,
I always wait until the last before I pack my grip;
An' always try to hide the fact that I am goin' away,
An' do my best to keep the folks in cheerful mood an' gay.
A railroad station's mighty glum when friends are goin' out,
It sorter shakes a fellow's nerve an' fills his heart with doubt;
An' so I'd rather say good-bye at home the times we part,
An' then sneak on the train alone — it's easier on the heart.
There's something 'bout a train that leaves a depot with your friends,
That fills your soul with grievin' an' a thrill of sorrow sends
All over those who watch it, till it disappears from sight,
An' the bravest can't help cryin' when it fades into the night.
I love to have them meet me when I 'm comin' home once more,
But when I 'm goin' from them, then I kiss them at the door
An' wave my hand in partin', as I hurry down the street,
An' then sneak on the train alone, an' sink into my seat.
Outgoing trains are sad ones — incoming ones are gay,
It isn't hard to tell the folks who 're goin' far away;
In stations little groups are seen, an' O, so oft, I note
A mother tryin' hard to down the lump that's in her throat;
It seems she's tied her heart-strings to the train that's waiting there,
An' the tug that comes at partin' is far more than she can bear;
An' I've come to this conclusion, that whene'er I have to roam,
I'll board the train unnoticed, with my 'good-byes' said at home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem