Subway Storyteller
She waits by the subway day in and day out
Watching for her husband’s train to come in
She has told me he is buried in the cemetary
But hasn’t given up hope of seeing him again.
Her clothes are now worn and her straw hat
Has fresh flowers weaved into it every week
Twenty years ago, she met her late husband
And he took her in when living on the street.
I’ve seen her go up to the many of the incoming trains
Asking the conductor if all the passengers were gone
Most of them say yes, and it makes me feel so sorry
And she’ll often speak of her late husband Shawn.
“He took the train to his job in the city, young lady,
Shawn was a wealthy man with strong character.”
I am always sitting in awe listening to her stories
That she’ll often confide in me to want to share.
Two weeks later, after I last saw her by the subway
I read in the newspaper she died of terminal cancer
It made me wonder how she ever could have been
Strong enough to ever go and tell her stories there.
She was quite a brave and courageous woman
A great storyteller and person, that I will admit
My memories of the subway I won’t ever let go
She’s joined her husband now, I won’t forget.
I’ve avoided the subway for almost two years now
It doesn’t seem right to take it to my new workplace
I find myself looking around for my deceased friend
And feel lonesome when I can’t ever see her face.
Thank you, Lord, for all my many experiences there
And giving that courageous woman an interesting life
She’s gone to Heaven, now, and I always think of her
Now his loving wife has joined her departed husband.
