Once a weary village,
its tracks forgotten,
breathed a final sigh
from the silence of its engines.

Houses bowed low,
yet from the dust
a prayer began to rise.

Where quarrels once
darkened the night,
a small light opened,
stretching mercy through the hours.

The river still moved,
carrying time on its back;
and in each shattered pool,
soft and unseen,
a gentler breath arrived,
not of loss,
but of love returning—
a promise flowing on.

© TaeHun Yoon, 1969 Early Spring