Steam leaves in puffs and billows,
A never-ending cloud of whiteness,
From the age-old iron engine,
As it trails on and on and on.
The track was laid with tears and hate
From the sweat of ages past.
Now they rust into the ground,
As foreign as ghosts and goblins
To this empirical world.
Look closer at this “technologic” world
And you’ll see a train go by.
See it through a child’s eyes
–full of wonder and amazement-
A telling sign of what once was,
Of greatness long buried in the past.
Slow and steady, it moves along,
Winding through the wooded landscape.
Always heading forwards, onwards,
As reliable as the rising and setting of the sun.
The fading of the evening light shines dimly
On the age-old iron grandfather, as it chugs
On and on along the tracks that only cease
Far into the dim horizon.
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