Trains That  No Longer Whistle

Trains That The Words Forgot, but to be forgotten is meant that they are antiquity, priceless master-pieces . As long as times roll back, those things grow in worth, take layers of dust that bring them richness , respect and Nostalgia..  
   
Steam and smoke trains, don't fume anymore, lying like dead corpses or spare parts of what once was called the golden age;;If they would fume, they would only give a plaintive sigh, about their desolate demise; forsaken and rejected.Thought to have lost their charm, their romance:too much archaic and rusted for a modern glossary,  
   
They don't whistle full-throat screams, when coming into crowded scene,  
with travelers waiting with roses and flowers.....and home--comers long awaited return, from war, from places never before gone to....  
Old smoking trains too much aged for a godspeed journey acrooss the green lands, and winding between the grazing pastures and the flat plains and the long tracks, thru' the gigantic mountains, and alongside the deadly cliffs,,  
But, safety guaranteed and entertainment are additional bonus...........  
   
They throng, now inside the old wood station, built somewhere at the fringe of the town, beside the pine forest..and the old cemetery........  
   
Those archaic trains, on the dusty shelf remain, like outworn clichés rejected,. Art is antiquity enshrined...on Natural museums and open to air parks...............  
   
I don't cry over those dead entities which don't whistle, but i cry on Romance missed and Beauty overlooked, In time of fast eating and fast breeding, and fast living; and fast death.dying, nothing doing !!!  
   
With every souvenir recalled,there's a tear shed, taking with it all the bitter sweetness of the halcyon past, with every layer of dust there's a layer of a must see, must hear, must know that everything man made with heart, with patience  
and with care is witness of his worldwide humanity...