The house sits not far from the track;
the old gal sits in a chair out back.
Her worn, faded Bible says 1904,
as does the bridge that promised her more.
Progress had never ceased to amaze,
while several children she managed to raise.
She, herself, grew up by this track,
listening to the clackety-clack.
She dreamt of places where the tracks would go
when the trains went by and their whistles would blow.
She would listen to stories the porter would tell
when he would come and sit for a spell.
But dreams are just that and when life is through
it never matters which ones came true.
Time has finally taken its toll;
life has passed by with the dreams it stole.
Now she remains in the house by the track
and still she waits in the chair out back,
until the day that she will ride hightracks made of gold in the silver sky.
Poem & Image: McGuffy Ann Morris