CABOOSE, CABOOSE

Caboose…Caboose…
Hurry, catch up if you can.
You don't have time
to wait for my symbolic whine.
You're always tagging along
and always last in line.

Caboose…Caboose…
It matters not how slow or fast,
but that you're always there
to guide me to and fro…
To let me know all is well,
so my whistle I can blow.

Caboose…Caboose…
Could it be that I am next,
(engines of the future
antiquating my soul?)
Or could it be my engineer
stripped of his honored role?

Caboose…Caboose…
Of everlasting service
in keeping up with me,
in looking over my rail
and my journeys on the track…
your dismissal I bewail.

Caboose…Caboose…
Those men you knew
that toiled those long, hard hours
to make my bed to grant me speed…
those men with callused hands,
you gave respite indeed.

Caboose…Caboose…
Retired to rest and dream
of days with men on board,
so proudly claiming fame
for bygone days of yore…
that never seem the same.

Caboose…Caboose…
Alas, I miss you friend.
You tagged along the rail as
my attendant over the years.
You fed, rested my crew…
who remember you with tears.
© L. Jean
1999


       As my husband and I sat in our car waiting in line
while a train passed through,
we remembered our childhood joys
of counting the cars pulled by the mighty engine.
If we were lucky to see the beginning of the train,
we would guess how many cars it might pull
by the number of engines.
And mostly, our lament
was over the fact that there is no longer a caboose.
The excitement of waiting for the
little red caboose is no longer with us
and our children know the game we played
only through our stories.
I told him I just had to write something.
The above tribute is what came to mind.
I hope you have enjoyed it.



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"Image Courtesy of www.PicturesNow.com"

Sounds credit is given to
Craig Ferrante



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