Travel

The railroad track is miles away, 
And the day is loud with voices speaking, 
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day 
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by, 
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, 
But I see its cinders red on the sky, 
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make, 
And better friends I’ll not be knowing; 
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, 
No matter where it’s going.

                                                            Edna St. Vincent Millay