Sonnet XXVII: The Whistle Blows
©21-19-01, Olan L. Smith
We walk the rails today, Billy Bob and me,
We place a penny on the track for fun
A deeper fate is certain alchemy.
The eastward bound is come 'tis copper spun,
And death is just for thrills, the risks abide
Whence comes the test of flesh upon the track,
Who saves is all the joy, an angel cries
And hence unsung, the hope for life is slack.
The whistle blows; the coin, the awful roar,
But Billy's foot is wedged, no time to yell,
No time to cry, we've passed this way before,
Once upon a time always ends in hell.
The brothers ghastly deaths, their souls are gone
Their lives no more exist, a ghostly bond.
The top digital painting of Engine 486 was painted by me, and the bottom photo is of a derailment of a train in my town, Huntsville, Missouri, USA taken by my father Walter W. Smith, Sr.
An view of the tracks looking east.
Car hit by a train that kill a woman in my town, I've got my morbid head leaning into the passenger's side door, right side for US, and that is my mother on the other side. This was on Sunday morning, she was killed as she was on her way to church, and is why I'm dressed in a suit.
(All photos are the proper of Olan L. Smith and may not be reproduce without expressed written consent).