I see you, standing in the station's light, my mother <br />a frigid wind blows, cruel accomplice of the night <br />your loving arms hold tightly now my little brother <br />a few stray glances linger, leave our sorry plight. <br /> <br />I see your shivers, mother, it is not just cold, <br />you know that parting is a bitter little death. <br />There comes a time, you said, for all to leave the fold, <br />you seem so fragile now and small and out of breath. <br /> <br />But now you smile to me, a trick to lift the mood, <br />it is the misty smile of camouflage, you weep. <br />It's early evening and folks appear subdued, <br />the stationmaster's whistle lets my brother sleep. <br /> <br />White, silver gray your hair, tied in a formal bun <br />and much too thin inside your flimsy overcoat, <br />yet now you joke with me, we're having so much fun <br />it is hilarious, that man looks like a goat. <br /> <br />And only now your face gets dark and very gray <br />a thousand moths disturb the light with crazy joy. <br />There is so little that the two of us can say, <br />the final whistle blows then, 'come back soon my boy.' <br /> <br />And as the train pulls out and gathers farewell speed <br />I can see her standing, brave face and oh, so small, <br />while I must leave to fight my battles and indeed <br />some thirty years did pass, I did return that Fall.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/trainstation/
