May Pome: Bound for Glory

We're all bound for glory. (Or are we just tied up on the phone?) Even now glory is approaching at top speed, ETA just when we least expect it.  A large, revolving headlight suddenly rushing right at us, larger and larger and then WHAM! pushing us down the tracks till we drop off the cowcatcher into the dirt and rocks along life's roadbed. Journey's end for another solar-powered water tank. HONK! HONK! The geese of the season herald the crossing, the shunting of the car to the sidetrack, the end of the line, that's all she rote. Meet me at the station and we'll rail against fate, sing the railroad blues, throw another log on the fire, get all steamed up over nothing, flash through town so fast it'll be as though it never happened,  though the coupling and uncoupling were grand fun despite the DO NOT HUMP signs.