The Melting Snow of the Infinte Plain
Written on a train from Birobidjan to Khabarovsk
Dusk inserts contrast to the endless white before me
Small patchs of forest punctuate the crystalline desolation
Brush and barren soil testify
That the Herculean winter is mortal after all
A days journey nears completion
A circuitous route
Ends like it began
Thoughts of far and near
Of important and trivial
speed through the minds eye
Occasionally stopping.
At the stops
The view becomes clear and definite
Then slowly
Movement begins again
The everyday life becomes a blur.
Night has come to the winter plain.
Morning and Spring inch closer.
And the train rolls on.
2 comments:
I love train poems!
That is very kind of you to write this share for us, thanks a lot
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