Riding The Rails

As the train pulls out

for Toronto

hugs and kisses only memories

the crowd lost in

love-

the coach now sways to

the sweep of an October wind

poplar leaves crackle – car horns

muted at the flashing-light crossing

past a collection of rusting

scrap in heaps of iron

past the Salmon River reflecting

from ripples of current

and I watch my Town of Truro

slip away lost in the Autumn

of an afternoon sun.