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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #1172717
My recollection of youth spent along the rails covered by iron ore cast offs.

Jilted ore pellets,
hued heavenly blue,
match the child's eyes
with brilliant wonderment.

Nestled in pants' pockets,
packed to the brim,
the rough gems
restrict my stride.

Trailing the tracks
where grandpa died,
grasshoppers hum;
cut the humid silence.
Black wings with
pale yellow tips
flit before my eyes.

Rusty iron rails,
rubbed smooth and bare,
settle warm beneath feet
blistered, brown and nimble.

Distance protects me
from the lonely wail.
The train runs on time.
It took years to get here.

The red signal flashes
before the dropping gate.
I'll have to wait
for this locomotive to pass.

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