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ArtistikFunk

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<h5>

 

When I look back on my childhood,

 

Living on the miwest plain,

 

I remember the sight of a ribbon of smoke

 

From a fast approaching train.

 

 

 

Sometimes a silvery-sleek passenger train

 

With windows of unknown faces,

 

More often it was a big, noisy freight

 

With boxcars from far away places.

 

 

 

With eager excitement I waited

 

For the train to come in to view

 

So I could try to count the cars

 

As they passed by in review.

 

 

But my fondest recollection,

 

To this day so perfectly clear

 

Was the smile and friendly wave

 

From the locomotive engineer.

 

 

By Phyllis Merryman Cloyd©2000

 

 

 

 

 

 

</h5>

 

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