The Old Tracks

In my town and only
90 feet from my house
Run a pair of old tracks,
Railroad tracks older
Than my house, even
Older than me, and I
Am become old, very,
Very old, like a tree
Whose branches
Betray it with
Every strong wind
And fall to ground
Leaving less and
Less of the tree.

I used to walk in
Between those
Carefully laid
Iron rails, stepping
On the worn wood
Of the old ties as
Though they were
Made of glass ...
I walked the length
Of my small town,
I walked the world.
I walked where
Passenger trains
Carried lives and
Their once warm,
Now cold, dreams
And I was part of
Each life, now gone
To ether and mist,
And so too my
Lonely soul will
Ride those rails
One bright day.

Still, a freight train
Comes by once or
Even twice a week,
And I thrill to hear
Its wailing horn as
it cries out for a
forgotten glory,
and the ground
still shakes a bit
as the old train
lumbers slowly
by my house and
I wait a holy wait
For the music of
Its rumbling and
The cry of its old Heart as a young
Engineer pulls the
Whistle and sees
Not that he is
Driving eternity.