Whistle-Fantasy Poem by Margaret Widdemer

OUT in the dark the train passes
And the whistle calls to the child,
Desolate, piercing, wild,
From the track in the meadow-grasses . . .
'Far, far away,' it screams,
'Far, far away,
Out in the distance are dreams
Dreams you shall follow some day
Far through the endless wild . . .
Distance . . . dreams . . .'
Backward the faint call streams:
Far in the dark the train passes,
And the whistle calls to the child.