Our sheathing is worn and gray
The nails that pin it to our form rusting
Yielding to the years
And the rains that have seeped in through the slats
The snows of winter have frozen but not embittered us
And the winds that sweep across the Plains
Under endless summer suns
Have scoured away our color
Though we stand naked for all our remaining seasons
There will be no mourning for ourselves
We have scratched out a place
And rested our bolsters upon the good earth
Vacant draft gear home to the calico
The windows are open
To let in the fragrance of spring
The chill and dreary of autumn’s eve
And the rumble of passing trains
---RAM
Rick Malo©2025
Thank you!