A once proud and busy place
Built to help the daily race
Railway tracks, like welcoming arms
Leading to places of joy and charm.
Stationmaster always busy
Sweeping the platforms then picking up litter
Tending to the flowers and gardens
Oh so proud of all his creations.
Came the day such sad news
No longer needed what would he do
He Looked up and down the tracks
No sounds of approaching click clack
Birds still sang no changes for them.
Station would become memory lane
Grass and weeds take over
Such a once loved place
No humans no trains such a lonely state.
Windows like eyes peered into space
Why me, why me, the winds sang
Changes called progress sweeping the land
Railway stations joining the history band.
Dead of night the wind pays its visits
Bringing the sounds of lost spirits
Stationmaster revisits his domain
Staring at broken glass, and rusted gutters
Hanging down like tears of disaster.
Human tears trickle down a cheek
He imagines all the scenes gone by
then falls asleep in the peaceful scene
never to wake from his wonderful dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem