The window's view
is constant change:
houses then trees,
fact’ries then fields,
all flying past.
Rattling along,
clickety-clack,
clickety-clack.
Passengers sway
with the curvy track.
First to the left,
then to the right.
Sweeping through turns
on long steel rails,
clickety-clack,
clickety-clack.
Stereos blare –
it must be loud
with sound so high,
right in your ears.
Some folk sleep by
the railway beat,
clickety-clack,
clickety-clack.
A screech: we slide,
trying to grip the tracks.
Slow into the station:
where some folks alight
and new people board,
joining our rhythm,
the clickety-clack,
clickety-clack.
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