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.
— edna st. vincent millay