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The train will soon stop when it 
reaches my station, 
I'm going home...

Once a small town, it has grown
to be a place of concrete and taller
buildings. No longer does it fit like
my old highschool sweatshirt tucked
away in an attic trunk

Morning sun filters through boughs,
soon devoid of varied colored leaves,
Broken stalks of corn stand bundled
in fields, and familiar stone fences
announce I'm almost there.

This visit will be my last and
so many memories are going through
my mind, like scenery that's
passing my window.

I see our family huddled around
our fireplace on cold winter nights,
flames casting shadows, and weaving 
magic spells of warmth and love.
I remember Sunday chimes echoing
through crisp morning air to call us 
to church.
The chimes will play again tomorrow,
but It won't be Sunday.

They will sound a mournful tune for a life
well spent, that went on to better things.
I wipe tears from my eyes remembering
us all, and squaring my shoulders,
I thank God for each memory
now recalled.


Judith Anne Labriola         

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