Classic Poem

Alone, in silence, at a certain time of night,
Listening, and looking up from what I'm trying to write,
I hear a local train along the Valley. And " There
Goes the one-fifty", think I to myself; aware
That somehow its habitual travelling comforts me,
Making my world seem safer, homelier, sure to be
The same to-morrow; and the same, one hopes, next year.
" There's peacetime in that train." One hears it disappear
With needless warning whistle and rail-resounding wheels.
" That train's quite like an old familiar friend", one feels.