Night Train

A mournful wail, a mournful sound,

A ghostly echo, deep and profound.

A train that glides through the velvet night,

Its headlights piercing the inky light.

It chugs along, a silent steed,

Through forests dark, where shadows creep.

Across the plains, where silence reigns,

And through the mountains, where the wind complains.

Its passengers, a motley crew,

Each with a story, old or new.

Some seek solace, some escape their past,

Some simply yearn to make the journey fast.

The conductor, a weary soul,

His eyes are heavy, his spirit's old.

He's seen it all, the joy and strife,

The hopes and dreams of human life.

The engineer, a steady hand,

He guides the train through the unknown land.

With watchful eye and steady nerve,

He keeps the train from going askew.

The brakeman, a lonely figure,

He stands upon the car, a rigid rigor.

His lantern's glow, a guiding light,

As the train disappears into the night.

The whistle blows, a mournful sound,

As the train approaches, a ghostly mound.

It glides into the station, slow and sure,

And then, it's gone, forevermore.