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