Life is a strong and steady blow,
A distant sound,
Heard in backyards and dilapidated houses,
Moving at a tremendous pace
Wondered over in the night.
Clear in the cold, home to tramps
And vagabonds, travellers
And suits.
It is black, it is white,
It is cloaked in smoky haze,
It becomes clear again.
It is an old woman’s past,
A neat floral dress
And hair pinned with combs,
Then another trip to the corner shop.
It is found in a grainy photo,
Taken in this town and that,
Always on the move.
It is a road ahead of you,
A thrill solidified,
Inky space, winking diamonds,
Winter, and trees with no leaves;
Snow and frozen breath.
It barrels, it barges, it brings you home.
It is a train whistle –
TOOT-TOOT!!!
