poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2007


I sit here under plain sky
Watch gray trains roll by
I see the buildings sleeping
By the railroads side

The concrete is uneven
Small chaps of grimworn stone
A platform steadily steeping
To meterlong lines of whitebone

Fellow passengers sleeping
All in wholesome tone
As the train keeps leaping
Through green fields overgrown

The city rides far away
But the gray lights remains
Through the night we sway
By flickering freighttrain frames.