The Nebuchadnezzar magazine

By Eric-Anderson Momou

There is a train,

That runs from 

East to West,

From Marrakech

To Bangladesh.

That rides upon

A Crescent’s beam, and

trudges on thin airy streams.

There is a train,

Out past the plain,

Far unclaimed

Bound for Steppes

Most unnamed

That brings our wedded men, 

From threshing fields

To mend them near 

Our harvest yields

There is a train,

That takes 

Our Youth away—

The Uncouth, 

From the Fray

Where We elope

Upon The Cape 

of our Good Hope.

There is a train 

That brings 

Our children there.

Across a dying ring, bare

And yet,

Despite its foes

That wretched train,

Bears them all

To all it meets 

With open door,

–Even stops near 

Our second floor.

From Aberdeen,

To Pasadena 

From parts unseen

To North and South 

It is all the same,

Yes, my son

There is a train.