A Children's Poem

The Blue Train

The train leaves, the way

blue enters into green

wagons are horseless,

the whistle blows in threes.

The day is calm,

and trees hide bees,

the tunes you hear have rhythm

in their wings.

It's a footstep day

to museum, gold and trams

a horse stands

aside purple ropes,

the whistle blows again.

It's turtle slow

a second clattery ride

an engine pulling blue

with nowhere to hide.

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