Pistons roaring off the track,
But hopefully we'll make it,
Back among the Stones,
Between the mist and metal,
Roams the Grey;
And gloriously strange it seems,
Weaving out along the rocks,
The trees are bending with it,
Clean and murmuring;
Metal mind on metal shore,
Silver touch and look,
Metal thought and metal sigh,
An explosion and shrill cry;
Iron trundle brushing past,
Faster still till you can't breathe,
Faster still to complete,
A winding lonely journey;
Through lidless eyes,
Aglow and bright,
Can barely see what lies ahead,
Safely tow you through the night,
Aboard this iron, trundle train.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem