Journeys Endless
If life is direction and purpose the way
a route, a via even,
shall we loose a tear leaving Paris
on a night train to Nowhere
The station of the North
Was never of the cross
We’re mere boys setting forth
On iron rails glossed by frost
From forgotten compartments
We peer through dewy eyes and hoary panes
At white Hispanic churches in dark woods
And mirror children of paradise
Freewheeling down remembered lanes
Share
Print
Save
Follow
