Looking down from upper level,
seated ahead, all warm in place,
upon fellow passengers on lower platform still to embark,
rushing through the night to cars beyond.
But what strange lights like fireflies of youth they chase,
or lamps in hand to show their way
through the gloom they rush and wend,
and then recede.
But more behind, like squares of pearl,
they come, they come,
Till all are passed and, loaded full,
the train pulls out, all light within.
