THE TRAIN
some-times hur-ry en-gine
dream-ing thun-der tun-nel
mead-ows stretch spark-ling
Sometimes when I have gone to bed,
And slowly fades the light,
I lie awake and hear the trains
Go rushing through the night.
I often wonder whence they come,
And why they go so fast,
And why they never stop to see
The towns they hurry past.
But if I had a sack of gold,
I know what I would do.
I'd go and ask the engine man,
To take me with him, too.
Then we would whirl through dusky fields,
Dotted with dreaming sheep,
And shake the beds where children lie
And wake them from their sleep;
And thunder on the iron bridge,
And through the tunnel scream;
And leave behind us as we pass,
Long clouds of misty steam.
And travel onwards night and day,
Until the hedges stop,
And all at once towards the sea
The level meadows drop.
There we would view the sparking waves,
Stretch out to meet the sky,
While lofty ships, like snowy swans,
Without a sound pass by.
And go abroad, and sail and sail,
Beyond the sunset glow,
To lands where bed-time never comes
And all good children go.
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