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Trains in the Grass

by Annette Wynne

It's fun to watch the trains go by
Across the world as in the grass you lie
So carelessly, and think far thoughts of cities gray,
And watch the smoke curls die away
Across the brook or in the trees;
It's fun to lie quite at your ease
And dream that you are riding far
Inside the hurrying, clanging car.

How fast the train goes everywhere,
It seems to fly straight through the air,
And never touch the ground at all;
You see small boys—you try to call
To them as in the grass they lie;
So fast you fly
Before they answer you are by;
But there's another boy not far;
You call out from your flying car
To him, and yet he never hears;
Just then a great big bridge appears
And you forget him, and look out
At all the moving things about;
You wonder if the people, too,
Look in, and wonder who are you,
And where you come from, is it far,
What kind of folks your people are.

All at once a bee goes by,
A May bug, then a butterfly,
A poppy shakes a dusty head
And you are in the grass instead;
And then you know that, after all,
You are the boy you tried to call,
You are the boy the people pass
Inside the train, that looking through the glass
They see outstretched in meadow grass;
And there you lie the summer day,
And see the smoke curls die away.

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