Out of the tunnel bursts the train,
Out of the darkness into the glare;
The startled passengers exclaim;
The wakened readers rise and stare.
The text is rushing to its end,
So swift that sights cannot compare
With scenes read earlier at ease;
Steeply the storylines descend
Through twisting plot and vistas blurred,
By roaring streams, by torrents of words,
Nor does the narrator explain
The glimpses of a wild terrain.
Far from the sources where it rose,
The train of thought now breaks and slows,
And leaves the reader in his chair,
Brought to a halt at narrative’s close.
A wistful air,
The track ends. The page is bare.
But what might a second ride disclose?