Tuesday, March 07, 2017



A station agent's watch will time
The coming and the gone
And affix the here to now

Not the powered wheels that turn
Not the rails that guide the way
Not the pail that shovels coal
Not a thing that moves at all

I know why she left me here to drift,
Though ready till the end of it --
She spiked the cannon on approach
And said, “It’s you,” and fled the stage

The roar of engines dulls to taps
and marks the passing moments
Stop or go or stand aside
In memory at the house of trains

Mike Brady 2010/2017

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