Gray like the hairs in mother’s mane,
Eyes as deep as a wishing well,
Black as the sky surrounding the midnight train.
His back arched into a downward curve,
Paws tucked and ready to pounce,
Gray like the hairs in mother’s mane.
Nature’s hunters feasting on rodents,
With claws that are ready to kill,
Black as the sky surrounding the midnight train.
His ears are pointed and alert,
To every wakening sound,
Gray like the hairs in mother’s mane.
The silent paws pushing forward,
A dark shadow moving along the ground,
Black as the sky surrounding the midnight train.
The train rolls through our little town,
The horn blows and the cat meows,
Gray like the hairs in mother’s mane,
Black as the sky surrounding the midnight train.