a poem about a magical train

From an aerial view, the sight of a beautiful red train
chugging along down the railway track
takes my breath away;
One moment I am watching a funnel shaped smoke stack sending puffs,
up towards the white cottony clouds then disappearing,
and the next I am hearing the sound of a whistling blowing.
A melodious voice is heard as a conductor enounces,
"tickets please,"
Out of my pocket I produce an admission ticket
that was long overdue ...
With one cotton white glove he presses the ticket
between his fingers then holds it up to his gold monocle and smiles ,
"welcome aboard then !"
He traipses over to supposedly important passengers that I cannot see
and leaves me sitting there, wondering about our destination.
How I got so lucky as to enter this magical snow train I have no idea,
but the scent of this leathery Kirlian man, still clings to my thoughts
like a revenant moment from a long forgotten past.
To Be Continued...