I sit on the stoop
just me and a cigarette
I hear the birds calling
awakening to the sun's first rays
pile of ash collecting at my feet
blows away in the harkening of a new day.
The train rolling over cold steel rails
parting prairies like moses on the red
across a nation, full steam ahead.
I know you hear the birds calling
and the trains on rails
can you hear it, calling out your name?
Comments
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In my heart I hear this call daily. The call to move on. I too sit in the early morning under the carport smoking. In the quiet, I seem to hear the call of home. this poem has touched me in a way and at a time I find hard to explain. Thank you for the read.
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great poem
the call of the wind and the rails
unrelated?
I hear a lonely dog baying for its owners to return -
Loooove this!!!!!!!!!!!
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