ode to local motives

oh,
ye grand ol’ beast!
cylindrical, near enough,
steel,
the preferred transport
for
sad,
young men
(as I once was)
and, for those
older (not by much)
as I
is

oh,
the tired, traveled feet
stopped, for now
for to get on with
thoughts
conceived
oceans away,
followed back

oh,
such thinkings
twinkle
something like inspired
carried
from inside
to out
and, about
company kept,
leaps leapt,
and a jacket, wet
from resting on
some Nordic
bench

but,
here he sits,
alas,
again,
as in eternities prior
upon
a locomotive,
north bound,
home bound,
to get
mental
and wound
for the next
departure
this life compels

oh, ye!
sweet train
sing,
to me
the eternal refrain
the very same
through
the ages

for all my faults,
I hope
to succeed-
for all the not
I hope
to
be
a memory
worth the keeping
and, if greedy,
more

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