The whistle echoes, reminding the people of the valley that the beast is approaching.
The sound is loud, long and proud. If it were words, it would say honor the beast, respect it, fear it, long for it.
In the beast’s belly, the passenger jostles left, then right, catching glimpses of what the beast roars past.
Look! A small house in the distance comes alive as the sun splashes down on it.
The house is soon gone as the beast rolls on.
An animal grazes; it might be… the beast cannot stop so the passenger can find out.
Now a lake, which promises to refresh or to freeze. The beast won’t stick around to find out.
The beast moves on, and the passenger secretly wishes it would never let him out.
Smooth Aggregator, Not So Smooth Poet 