in the soft september solitude
in the drowsy,quiet hours,
when the world of every working day slips off to bed,
beneath the quilts of fretful prayers and dreams of better days,
i can hear the call, the howling call,
of the shadow train,
that passes this neck of woods,
rolling, rolling on its way
to the land of Far Away,
it is a haunting call, a beckoning to a yearning deep within,
a sultry song sung by some sad and soulful angel,
an angel who has always searched for me.
"Come to me, oh, fair-haired boy,
so filled with un-dreamt dreams,
come to me, before i pass by here
no more, no more, forever."
the window curtains brush my cheek,
as i lean out to see her smoke,
the moonlight casts magic into my eyes,
and in the air, i sense the something more,
as the whistle blows once more,
and the night train travels on,
leaving me to wonder.