The rain comes in golden droplets
Each one seemingly floating down to kiss the lake,
Breaking against the rusty bridge likes comets
Down below in the coming train’s wake.

It rumbles down the line,
Black iron body blurred in the mist,
A coal-strong heart glowing divine,
And a plethora of destinations ahead; a secret list.

As it passes a cloudy curtain closes behind.
Only the rain remembers it was there.
The fisherman in the water below, he was blind
Only to smile knowingly as the horn blared.

And when the fisherman paddled back to shore
With salt-caked hands against the rain,
He trudged across the gravelly beach and swore
Not to forget that beautiful, lonely train.