The train whistle is sharp,
piercing the morning ritual
of the awakening world,
drowning the greetings
of birds, overpowering
the sleepy sun. Yet, within
minutes it is over, this harsh
interlude imposed on
morning's grace. The whistle
fades, the rumblings and
churnings gradually quiet,
the earth settles, the stillness
returns. Birdsong rises in beauty,
even lovelier than before,
made perfect in the wake
of human's roar. Our passing
through is brief, but our days
are renewed each morning.
