The Train

She threw herself down, no longer able To keep running ahead of the train. How long she had begged to be heard Before falling silent for good. She was the one who pulled that train, Her legs sinking in snowdrifts between the rails. Grinding her teeth against her cheekbones, Carrying on with the shared load. The passengers, through the driver's window, Watch her go with listless eyes. Having donned the role of a medallist, He's worn the chain for twenty-five years now. That's it, she's tired. Her strength is gone. The train has stopped. It's easier to breathe. So much weight she carried in her heart — But now she is free to run.