The Last Song Poem by Gordon R Menzies

he was sixteen and distracted,
walking along the tracks
the stone beneath his feet
shifting with every step
each, uncertain and unstable
the air was cool on his skin
and damp from crossing
the lake, and nearby a bird
balancing on dogwood, watched
his life line etched parallel
to silver rail in sunlight
he was thinking, certainly
thinking hard that last day
perhaps about a girl, the
one with that hair, so
deliberately untouchable
with eyes like fallen stars
and the song, the last one
flowing slow through ear buds
no doubt reminded him of her
the words tracing her shape
like fingers in his young mind
and then the train, silent,
caught him like a swift falcon
and tore away that part of him
we all knew him by, and
he watched it and wondered
if he'd ever see the girl
and he rose, and rose, and
the waiting bird flew over and
followed him slowly as he rose
so he would not be alone, and
whispered quiet secret things
we will not know until our time
he heard the wings flapping
and did not know right away
that they were his very own