The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.
The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest.
When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul.
It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known.
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