Across The Trestle

The candle flame cools in its wax,

across the trestle end the tracks.

When the spirit of the body dies

the soul remains, still as it lies.

What good without the life it lacks?

And now

the iron horse, stopped in his tracks,

blows off steam and like a small child

stamps his feet but - can go no further.*

And now

the passengers drop their reading

material and summon the conductor

who passes them toward the back,

toward where they came from.*

The candle flame cools in its wax,

across the trestle end the tracks.

FG  2/3/2015*/ 1962

This is the first poem I can remember writing.  I think it was for a class with Mrs. Brown.  I have made small changes to it.* I think Dick Backus also had one printed:  The old dog barks backward/Without getting up. / I can remember when he was a pup.  I like this one, too.

I also had a satirical piece published in the Goffstown New in (1962)?