An original poem.
a stopped train
lies buried in snow
dwindling steam writhes,
reaches toward the stars,
thins to a wisp
and freezes
and all around
the endless field of snow
shines blue in the moonlight
but they
are serving hot waffles
in the dining car
windows aglow
with Hopper light —
Automat, Nighthawks
frosted fir trees
watch from afar
and smell bacon
a stopped train
lies buried in snow
moon-blue snow
hot waffles
Thoughts of Rob 
Beautiful imagery! I can see the lights shining out on the snow and feel the chill on my cheek and suddenly I’m craving waffles.
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