Dreaming of Trains
Every day I drive by the mill tracks,
And boxcars of paper rolls in stacks.
As it shuffles tankers of sludge and slurry,
I hear the old train wheels’ clickety clacks.
I watched diesel trains move along,
blunt featured, efficient and strong.
I wonder at all the romance sadly lost
Along tracks where old smokers belong.
I guess the environment paid the cost
of belching, dirty coal smoke exhaust,
but sparks flying and blackened plumes
make my railroad picture pretty, glossed.
I see switchyard engines blow oily fumes,
but wish I was relaxing in Pullman rooms.
I never outgrew railroad dreams I assume
as my boyhood hobo fantasy resumes.
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