Words from a roadside bush

Withered,

Choked by dark soot,

Gasping through ash and wind,

While bright wheels chase their golden dreams,

Fading.

Smoke floats,

Steel ghosts now glide,

Lost whispers drift through time,

While blind eyes gaze from heights above,

Silent.

Still here,

With fragile hope,

Reaching toward spring's promise,

But roots can't span these iron tracks,

Grounded