The train. by John bailey
As all of us do as we get older,
we step back in time.
I seem to be doing that more often now.
I go back to a rural farm,
back to Carolina.
In the evening you could hear
the Whippoorwill call,
on a cool clear night,
you could hear the train way off.
I use to see the Bobwhite,
and a cubby of chicks,
running off the edge of a dirt road,
in front of us.
My Grandfather walking with me,
pointing out things that have
Now the years have caught
up with me, where I live
now, I can still hear the train,
passing through town.
I sit on my deck and listen to
evening pass by,
as I have grown older, these pages
of my mind, take me home,
if only in memory.
I am young again,
the Whippoorwill is still there,
the Bobwhite crossing in front of you.
My memory is fresh, and time stands still.
My dreams are all good times all over again.
Those dirt roads, and enjoying all
that I see, even now I long for the
Whippoorwill and the Bobwhite.
Walking with my Grandfather,
him holding my hand, teaching me
of all I see.
"Just memories and sweet dreams"
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