Robert M. Simmons  

from Added Entries (Poems 1991- )   

      The Cape Cod Christmas Train

Each Christmas Eve at four o'clock,

   just as the sun went down,

a whistle could be heard throughout

   our quiet Cape Cod town.

Echoing through the village streets

   with its timeless refrain,

everyone knew that it must be

   the Cape Cod Christmas train.

Well before dawn the work began

   some distance down the track,

preparing for the daily run

   to old Cape Cod and back.

Many men labored to maintain

   this marvelous machine

as though it were a work of art

   in some museum seen.

By hand brass fittings were polished

   until they gleamed like gold,

and wheel bearings were greased until

   they effortlessly rolled.

The first stop was in Providence

   with many on the way

conveying crowds of travelers

   homeward for Christmas Day.

Past busy mills in Pawtucket

   the locomotive sped

moving its burden easily

   to other towns ahead.

Along the line there was Mansfield

   and Middleborough too

before the bridge on Buzzards Bay

   came clearly into view.

Across the bridge lay old Cape Cod,

   an unpretentious place,

where fads that swept the world outside

   moved at a slower pace.

The next stop was the small depot

   in Sandwich by the sea

made ready for the season with

   a crèche and Christmas tree.

And to the station neighbors flocked,

   from nearby homes they came.

The depot master at his post

   greeted each one by name.

Through every town beside the track

   the Christmas train would go

and also through cranberry bogs

   by now covered with snow.

As it continued steaming past

   dwellings perched on the shore,

preparations were underway

   beyond each cottage door.

Merry children might be stringing

   red berries on a thread,

while mother was busy baking

   cookies and gingerbread,

And father trimmed the Christmas tree

   with things the children made,

while in the hearth a yule log burned

   as day began to fade.

Near harbor towns the train would wend

   where fishing boats were tied

as they once were in Galilee

   at moorings side-by-side.

The depot in distant Chatham

   would be the final stop.

It was a painted palace with

   a turret on its top.

One Christmas Eve we waited there

   for family from afar.

A gentle snow was drifting down

   as they stepped from the car.

The meaning of the joy we shared

   to all of us was clear

while watching the deserted train

   in twilight disappear.

Though none among us understood

   that snowy Christmas Eve

the train we loved would not return

   when then we watched it leave.

For many years it played its part

   without missing a date

until like those who knew it well

   the train succumbed to fate,

And with the train an era passed

   seamless in its demise.

That things we cherish disappear

   should come as no surprise.

Life surely was quite different then,

   more difficult in ways,

but people seemed much happier

   in Cape Cod yesterdays.

Those times are now forever gone,

   and few of us remain

who can recall for ages hence

   the Cape Cod Christmas train.

                            © 2004 by Robert M. Simmons

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Subjects: Cape Cod, Christmas Eve, Christmas poems, steam trains, progress, change, sense of loss, grief, ballads, poetry, poems

The Cape Cod Christmas Train