Poems by Meg Mack HTML version

Now the track winds round the hillsides,
And through the forests growing.
The train’s whistle rends the air
As through villages we’re going.
Now it’s farmland we’re traversing,
And I’m getting excited.
It’s when we reach this area
I know soon we’ll be united
With Grandma and our cousins
By the sea. My brother’s sighted
The houses of the city
That spread so far and wide,
And crowd against each other
On every steep hillside.
The train’s whistle pierces shrilly.
For a moment I forget,
And my heart starts beating wildly.
Then its quickened beats
Slow down as I remember
Why we’ve come back here.
We’ve come home for the last time.
This time Grandma isn’t there.