Last Train

The moon breaks on a cragged hill,
and sets behind, a vapid shell.
Glimmering stars shine silent will,
Stammer at the last train bell.

The hills and sky are mute and dumb,

Rails drained grey by the golden sun,

Threads I'll follow, a place to go,

Sparks of coal from the boiler glow.

A leopard asleep rests with them,
To whistles of flying geese.
They flock across, a blackened sky,
Bringing sleep, bringing peace.

Soon the birds at dawn,
Will snap these dreamers awake.
What happened to the passing night?
And journeys that they take?