This is a poem about travel that I had really
liked and saved in my inbox. Today I discovered it again while going through
old e-mails.
Travel
Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892-1950
The railroad track is miles away,
And
the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But
I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And
hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I make,
And
better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No
matter where it’s going.
