Was I the train when racing with nights rough from rust,
Trembling through wind and rumbling with ribs in a rush?
Was I the train when grinding my teeth at the rails,
Shaking my metal children in cradles of rain?
Was I the train you wanted but could not get on --
Train that could run you over with leaves in the Fall?
Now I'm the drop of rain on the listening leaf,
Caught by a standstill, wanting the gust of the wind.