The Old Tracks

In my town and only

90 feet from my house

Run a pair of old tracks,

Railroad tracks older

Than my house, even

Older than me, and I

Am become old, very,

Very old, like a tree

Whose branches

Betray it with

Every strong wind

And fall to ground

Leaving less and

Less of the tree.

I used to walk in

Between those

Carefully laid

Iron rails, stepping

On the worn wood

Of the old ties as

Though they were

Made of glass….

I walked the length

Of my small town,

I walked the world.

I walked where

Passenger trains

Carried lives and

Their once warm,

Now cold, dreams

And I was part of

Each life, now gone

To ether and mist,

And so too my

Lonely soul will

Ride those rails

One bright day.

Still, a freight train

Comes by once or

Even twice a week,

And I thrill to hear

Its wailing horn as

it cries out for a

forgotten glory,

and the ground

still shakes a bit

as the old train

lumbers slowly

by my house and

I wait a holy wait

For the music of

Its rumbling and

The cry of its old

Heart as a young

Engineer pulls the

Whistle and sees

Not that he is

Driving eternity.