Mist and Shadow

The bell tolls.
The crowd presses in.
The whistle blows
Like a siren in a wasteland.

The fog curls
Around her ankles.
The steam billows
From the stack of the train.

Frozen still
Like a photo capture
The moment holds
With clear memory.

In the city
Where hearts oft are left.
San Francisco,
Awash in mist and shadow

She sees him.
He sees her too.
Home from the war
Her father she barely knew.

Tall and handsome
Briliant inventor.
He had run off
To a war far away.

In silence
of the station's energy
Their eyes meet.
Then in the mist he is gone.

Alone now.
The train starts to move.
Never again
Will they meet this side of heav'n.

January 23, 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Written about my mother concerning the final time she saw her dad. He had left the family when she was a little girl. She was orphaned at the age of twelve when her mother died of tuberculosis. She had been raised in Long Beach, California. She saw him as a young woman in her 20's in San Francisco. It was an unexpected encounter, one she will never forget. He is now buried in the military cemetary in San Francisco. I have seen his grave.