An abandoned platform waits at dusk,
Its rails gone silver in the fading light;
No train is due, no footsteps cross the bridge,
And swallows gather for their coming flight.
Beyond the station, windows start to glow,
A chimney catches fire against the sky;
Somewhere, the first fire of autumn burns,
While summer folds its wings and passes by.
The swallows rise together, turn, and wheel;
The empty platform watches them depart.
And in a house beyond the darkening fields,
That first small fire warms the evening's heart.