Old LaSalle Street Station
Its every feature. Sooty rafters loom
Like prehistoric blackened caves that date
To some unhallowed godless age. The room
Where men and women wait like me for trains
To carry them to distant east or west
Is gloom too, and ugly, old. It drains
Me of vitality and is a test
Of all that I can summon. Vision, strength,
The hope that springs and vivifies my days,
Drop; leaden weights oppress. Again the length
Of life looks black ahead, and memory flays.
Almost lived down, you specter ghosts, but here
You waited, waited with me year and year.
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
Margaret E. Haughawout
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)