The clatter <br />Of a distant train <br /> <br />A child ran <br />To the window pane <br /> <br />Seen moving slowly <br />Through the dusk <br /> <br />Across the common <br />Like a ghost <br /> <br />Carriage lights <br />With half pulled blinds <br /> <br />Burned it's passing <br />In his mind <br /> <br />Carriages full <br />Of unknown souls <br /> <br />Clanking on <br />To unknown goals <br /> <br />Passing slowly <br />Into time <br /> <br />Pulled by a train <br />On iron lines <br /> <br />Moving slowly <br />Through the dusk <br /> <br />That train would now <br />Have turned to dust <br /> <br />To where it went <br />The child knew not <br /> <br />Yet he knew it passed <br />From out his world <br /> <br />Perceived as it was <br />From his window sill <br /> <br />It disappeared <br />Along the line <br /> <br />To where? <br />To somewhere else in time? <br /> <br />The magic is <br />That he holds it still <br />That ancient train <br />With people filled <br /> <br />It clatters onward <br />Through his dusk <br />Any time that he thinks it must <br /> <br />He makes it journey <br />Time after time <br /> <br />Across the common <br />Along the line <br /> <br />It's carriages bright <br />With people filled <br /> <br />Trapped by the mind <br />Of a child until <br /> <br />He forgets <br />His window sill<br /><br />Egal Bohen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-window-sill/
