Night after night
Day after day
Week after week
Month after month
She waits on the train
Watching as girls turn into women and boys into men.
Children grow and are born
Within the taunting years that flake away.
She keeps her position;
Hand in hand sitting on her lap
Wrinkles from years of amusement crackle across the contour lines of her face.
Every night
When the train comes and goes
She is there
Awaiting a new generation to behold her.
The city disintegrates and radiates over time
All under the watch of her careful glistened eye.
Memories have been created only to be locked within her eagerly vacant stare.
Ever since that first evening she Waited there.

But that was thirty years ago!
When she herself was the engine to the old train to come and go.
The station employees scarcely go a day without seeing the thin warped figure to come behold the part of her that still sticks and stutters.

Her cane has brought her here
Along with age of hair
to turn gray
And into clouds that soon came over the old train station.
Clouds that then brought the end.
The end which cut off the old woman from the elicit train.

We are yet to search for her
And her golden face
Covered with maps
To delineate every curve of her fragile shape.

Poor broken heart,
You will soon deceive the severed vow of the old train.