Lines composed on viewing the dismantling
of the Auburndale railroad station

Sweet Auburndale! Loveliest station on the main
Where stood the commuter for the morning train
With half-opened eyes scanned the morning news
Whilst listening for the sound of the choo-choos.
When lo, the B & A in all its glory
Would thunder in to interrupt the story
And steam from out the bowels of the cars
Would yield to frosty air and morning stars.

Yet soon, the passenges, all safely boarded,
Begin the cry: "the fare, we can't afford it.
It's far too much to pay for this short haul.
I vow I'll take the car to City Hall."

And so, in short, swift time - from this I sigh -
Full many a score of passengers passed it by.
Gave up the hard-backed seat and stuffy room
Of the old 8:10 - and promptly sealed its doom.

Now, liberated, pass they by in file
Down Boston streets for mile on mile on mile
Inching their way towards work, in dreary rote
Their tempers ruffled - ah, but please take note,

While this transpires, soft falls the evening sun
On heaps of rubble that the stone mason
Did once construct to house a mighty swell
Who kept their vigil for the morning bell
Of the old 8:10, forever gone, methinks.
For all she meant to me, I'll drink three drinks.
What's done is done - we call it progress here.
In Britain, they would call it madness, mere.

William R. van Gemert
Boston Herald, 1962