The Passing of a Railroader
Coma. He'll not last out the night.
Take note if any word he speaks.
No folks; only a fellow worker.
Snowbound; arrive tomorrow night.
At midnight he mumbled something.
"No three late."
And after a seeming effort,
"Local not into clear."
Followed by a startling word of command:
"Keep red-flares burning!"
Time slowly passed and again we
caught the whispered words;
"All clear---DS---transfer OK."
One more breath from the pallid lips and,
"Marie."
His wife, now dead ten years.
Stand by Orderly, we need the space.
The room must be vacated at once.
A. J. Paul
With all poetical license.
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