Poetry
The Train Yard
Silent, lonely, and forgotten
When passing on the train,
On the way to work,
On the way back home,
He saw the empty train yard.
Desolate, lonely, and forgotten,
Filled with metal and bits of loose tin.
The train yard always looked empty,
Nothing seemed to ever happen there.
All he saw were trains lined up waiting,
As if there was some special guest,
Who would one fine day finally appear,
To make broken windows and old paint disappear.
The train yard always looked abandoned,
There seemed to be a ghostly air around it.
No workmen were spotted in that train yard,
Even though when the dust cleared, he looked hard.
Why was that old train yard kept open,
When no trains went out or went in?
Then one fine day as if by magic,
He saw the train yard filled with men,
Busy working from morning to night,
To get all those trains working right.
A week later on his way to work, he saw,
The old trains were all painted and…
