The moving train

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After thirty years
of teaching history,
She reached out to him
a million times,
The kids went away
To study and to earn a name
Her history kept her moving
in the tear drops of rain.
She belonged to her students
and never felt sane,
The commute of life took away
Years she could have spent
being there when it mattered.
Space is a luxury not to be given;
Unless you hide from pain.
He saw her gliding through the train’s coach
Could have hugged her tight
But he found himself
on the wrong side of the platform.
The train had left
but a fragment of her behind,
Her dreams had been achieved
through other people in her life.
“What will I do when I retire”
she used to quip to him everyday
So much to read and write, he would say.
Have done my fair share, said her mind
Yet she believed there was still time,
Time to make things right.

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