The Thinking Sapling

A train goes round and round,
passing stations day in, day out.
People board, a dozen fresh faces.
Every day, the route never changes.

Morning, it starts on its routine.
Down the track, the same old scene.
There’s the sound of steel and shuffling steps
from start to end, the engine won’t rest.

A well-dressed man rushes aboard.
Eyes on his watch, his boots thudded on the floor.
Taking the time, he adjusts his tie.
At last, he sits down with a heavy sigh.

The train takes him round and round.
At his stop, he steps down.
Smiles and frowns, a dozen fresh faces.
One person is off. The route never changes.

Year on year, it’s the same routine.
The same old track on a changed scene.
There are wearing wheels and creaking steps.
From start to end, the engine won’t rest.

Giggling children dash down the hall,
laughing as they trip and fall.
Vanquished and tired, they finally sit
as stars pass them in the window slit.

Two people tucked in the corner.
Hushed tones spoke of dread and wonder.
Hands held, a downward gaze,
as the night turns to day.

In that seat, the pair stayed.
Their fate could wait; it’s stations away.
The children stood ready, fresh and renewed,
as the station comes into view.

The train now completes its round.
At long last, all passengers step down.
Relief and exhaustion, a dozen tired faces.
They’re all off. Still, the route never changes.

Next time, it’s the same routine.
The same old route, it’s an old scene.
It might be special for those who sat
on a train that knew no other track.