The train is coming.
As surely as the second hand
Moves in ticking repetition,
Counting the days by increments,
And the readiness she possesses is not perfect,
But how can one be perfectly ready to leave?
All her leavings until now spoke of now,
The last departure to a far country.
In the station the children walk by
Talking of little everythings,
Filling the hollow with bittersweet tones.
One by one, they come and bid adieu.
And she kisses them
As a mother should.
Despite the many voices, a unified whisper,
Goodnight, and goodbye.
But in the finality of night,
The dawn speaks a limit,
And creation replies in groan –