even after the populace had given up on trains,
number 9 kept stopping before the bricks and
clapboards of the vacant depot

at length   to scuttle temptation within the
old girl   the building was removed to
a field half a mile away from the tracks

   at that distance number 9 could only
   whimper a little as she caught a glimpse of the
   fading structure out of the corner
   of a headlamp     and one day she herself was scrapped

now Moses Adams mows hay past the ticket window
and sometimes pulls down a wall to
repair his corrals and sheds

and, the rails glide rustily past,

          unable to see the vanishing depot for the weeds