The Last Whistle

The train is now ready on strong, sturdy tracks.
The engine stands idle, yet nothing it lacks.

So soon will depart this old world by and by -
and faithfully leave in a blink of an eye.

The tracks lay ahead - in parallel rails -
laid firmly on ties fastened tightly with nails.

The nails that hold each limb in its place,
painfully centered, reflected on face.

The roadsides are flowered where souls still mourn -
but not beside rails still bordered by thorn.

The narrow, so straight, is still railing in pain.
Though great are the treasures, so few receive gain.

The first whistle blows with full steam in the plume.
The time dwindles quickly. There's plenty of room.

Again - second whistle - recorded in Word.
The smoke starts to billow, with whistle unheard.

Is heart fully in it? Be sure, Heaven knows -
so who is on board as the last whistle blows?