Long low mourns
of a train whistle
far off and away
from Port St. Jake
night echoes
burrowing into
further dark
dank river valleys
a far piece down
the track and
switchin yards
not yet known
or seen outside
mind pictures
fueled up by
wonderworkin
wine.
Author notes
Written July 24th, 2005
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Quiet Sound
A train of thought, finding its way through memory and through mind, back to the whistle of departure ...
Lovely work. And I loved the exit lines ... so mellow and deep.
Myra
Ps How are you, Poet?
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such a great poem! it has style, it's concise and smooth. Good job!
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