Travelling at a great speed,

Taking me back to my medical creed,

Towards the land of duress,

Where am I sitting, make a guess,

It is a machine that runs so fast,

Every weather is able to outlast,

It’s giant noisy engine so complex,

Explaining it is no circumlocution,

Yet allowing it’s passengers to relax,

Remains one of best ways for migration,

For both rich & poor, it has provisions,

Never is it partial to society’s exclusions,

It’s sound is no enchantment,

Runs in it’s own simplistic temperament,

Earlier on coal, now on electricity,

It runs in combination with felicity,

Be it people, vehicles or goods,

It carried all sans any complaints,

For all of ’em it boldly stood,

Even in times of revolts & restraints,

Day & night it runs and runs,

As if running is a way of fun,

By now you must’ve known,

An idea in your mind would’ve grown,

Of this mighty machine I talk about,

In it’s job which is firmly devout,

In praising it folks I won’t restrain,

The machine I talk about is the Train.

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