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Travel
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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 the 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.

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