The wooded hills and valleys stitched with ties and steel

Brought me special moments still deep within I feel.

The calling of the whistle that promised something grand

I’d run for half a mile to get a view and take a stand.

Sometimes in country silence when darkness was so deep,

That chugging in the distance told a promise it would keep.

I crawled over to my window and stared at darkened space

And soon light got brighter as the engine showed its face.

Next the whistle blew with a friendly sort of blare

Then the rumble shook the ground and brought a smile to my stare.

I wished it had been longer with many loaded cars

But soon it was so far away, a memory under stars.

(c) Rick Wyman