The Last Whistle 8-23-10

The train is now ready on strong, sturdy tracks.
The engine stands idle, yet nothing it lacks.

So soon will depart this old world by and by -
and faithfully leave in a blink of an eye.

The tracks lay ahead - in parallel rails -
laid firmly on ties fastened tightly with nails.

The nails that hold each limb in its place,
painfully centered, reflected on face.

The roadsides are flowered where souls still mourn -
but not beside rails still bordered by thorn.

The narrow, so straight, is still railing in pain.
Though great are the treasures, so few receive gain.

The first whistle blows with full steam in the plume.
The time dwindles quickly. There's plenty of room.

Again - second whistle - recorded in Word.
The smoke starts to billow, with whistle unheard.

Is heart fully in it? Be sure, Heaven knows -
so who is on board as the last whistle blows?

©2010 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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2 Peter 3:9 (KJV)
"The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness;

but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish,

but that all should come to repentance."

The Old Model T 8-6-10

Way back when, in nineteen twelve
a Model T was born.
It rolled past a tumble weed
and field of planted corn.

It traveled several old dirt roads.
It traveled very far.
Its horn played every gospel tune,
on strings, with its guitar.

Then one day it fell in love.
The grille turned up a grin.
It found a younger Cadillac -
her horn, a mandolin.

Each week they'd do their gospel sing,
then park in their garage.
And after 'while, five new cars -
their faithful entourage.

It beat me playing horse shoes.
Its 'ringers' made a 'cling'.
It fixed up several houses
and did most everything.

It's need, at times, an oil change,
that slowed it down a bit -
but motor strong, would always purr,
and never, ever quit.

But time did get the best of it -
I think it so unjust -
that this great antique auto
could tarnish, peel and rust.

Suspensions seemed to weaken,
It creaked some here and there.
It'd sometimes blow a gasket
and need one more repair.

Mechanics kept it going
with reasons of 'because'.
It would, at times, need greasin' -
but active, always was.

Many other newer cars
would have an 'accident'.
Disgarded, they were totalled -
and to a junkyard sent.

But this one kept on singing
through every single week -
despite some old parts missing
and battery still weak.

Then slowing to a snails crawl -
for it was not as quick -
I noticed headlights dim a bit.
To 'LOW' it moved the stick.

Oil pools were sometimes found
from places still unknown -
but not a grinding gear you'd hear,
complainings or a groan.

Upholstery did get moldy,
dried and wrinkled, thin -
but gasoline was in its tank.
Some spark was still within.

Sometimes parked in home museums,
folks would gather 'round -
to hear those old, old stories.
I'd hear horns toot the sound.

Then one day this Model T
'tween fenders, under hood -
sputtered some - its engine coughed
with filter plugged up good.

Yet many years, I know not how
it kept on coming back.
I think its little secret was
that big ol' Cadillac.

Ninety eight long years went by,
with memories by the score -
but finally that old motor quit.
It couldn't run no more.

That Cadillac was by his side
'ere since they 'tied the knot',
She never left him in the cold -
she never had forgot.

My memories fade, but never die.
This car, through visions see,
but all great stories have to end -
as with this Model T.

Gaylord K. Gander
May 1, 1912 - Aug. 6, 2010
(my father)

©2010 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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