The Last Train Boston

By: Fee

He sits alone at a window corner table

Looking tired, aged and old

His dreams tucked away in a suitcase

Rotting and covered in mould

Hands that were once strong as iron

Now tremble just holding his cup

His eyes were once sharp as an eagles

Now squint to just see just good enough

His clothes that used to be so stylish

Now hang on his frame like rags

He sits all alone by the window

Amid brown paper parcels and bags

As he waits for the 6:40 to Boston

That old train like him is running late

It’s the last trip he’s going to take

His son told him a home was his fate

He took roses to say goodbye to Mother

Buried by the church where they wed

He gathered his worldly possessions

Inside he feels like he’s already dead

He walks to the end of the platform

Sees that train roar down the track

One more step and he see’s his salvation

Now he’s gone and never looked back.