Songs In The Night Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

Like a fog horn on the Erie
And train whistles in the night,
The echoes of these lonesome sounds
Are magnified by fog's dim light.

But in the solitude I'm sitting in,
Pondering what will be my fate,
Have I the time to change some hearts,
Or has the clock found I'm too late?

I pick a single topic
And filter it in my mind.
But it gets drowned out with others,
Like an intoxicating wine.

Even in this quietness
Is the occasional sound of birds.
My thoughts have no pecking order,
And are simply jumbled words.

Then I put them on a page
Just like rolling a pair of dice.
And somehow without knowing how
The words sometimes turn out nice!