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Scenic Rail Journey Inspires Poetry

Jaunt from historic Staunton to White Sulphur Springs

by Bruce Andrew Peters

Washington, DC

Riding the Rails

Clickity clack sings the railroad track,

her pulse brings the country together.

A lone dove escorts us.

She'll fly back,

to await yet another.

Cows surf hills that rise up,

then meander.

Energetic, electric green,

evergreen mountains pulsate like neon:

"give us a gander!"

We pass old Staunton town,

home of the Statler Brothers and President Wilson,

elected in 1913.

Piercing cottony clouds,

mountains hug us from the rest of the world —

like the Swiss and their Alps —

we're comfortably in between.

Soft pine needles — easy on the eye.

Trees push upward,

blossom like fireworks on the fourth of July.

Visit neatly manicured farms.

An exuberant, young calf — overjoyed with life — runs for fun.

Resigned to duty, her mom fattens up, but shows no alarm.

For the poor and downtrodden, there's a beat up old trailer,

and hope for the future in their vegetable garden.

Our thundering locomotive rocks us down the rails.

To blaring horns, the carpenter man pounds his nails.

Small children in the creek below,

greet us with wild waves, then beaming smiles.

Our future — and all it holds — now theirs for many miles.

They captured a ride along the tracks.

I waved: "Nice to meet you, we'll be back!"