WAITING FOR THE NIGHT TRAIN
As though time were a grain, I am young again
Waiting on a bridge for a Swanage train
Waiting agog under a black quilted sky
On a narrow country lane, where above me the sigh
Of whispering trees stirred by a lazy breeze
Spawn madcap bats made of tattered top-hats
While an unseen owl hoots its lonesome refrain
To the hushed rasp of crickets…
But as yet no train
With telegraph wires humming, which the breeze likes strumming
Where soon will a night train be hissing and drumming
Here glow-worms like spangles cast specks of queer light
And sweet distant Swanage makes a similar sight
Its streetlamps too shy to offend the sky
I listen with arms now like goose-bump farms
And with my trousers besmirched by a bicycle chain
I gaze at dark hills and wait and wait…
But as yet no train
NIGHT WHISPERS
Hush the Milky Way this chilly, chilly night
Steadfast beyond our earthly breeze
Beyond gnarled oak fingers clutching eerie light
In whispering picture-frame trees
Here twinkle a trillion pin-holes leaking eternal light
And a moon trapped by leafy creation
To turn the woodland a ghostly white
And make silver a little country station
IRON ROADS
This my era, this my age
Steam, not muscle, turns this page
And want drives the peasant from the farmland raw
To the mine, the mill, and factory floor
Forge and hardship, street and row
Rivers of white-hot metal flow
To run through the valleys and set rock hard
In rail, and junction, and marshalling yard
Which turns the wheels of this new age
Which boasts its might through the pressure gauge
And by spangling crucibles laden with heat
Proves the mettle of man with each iron feat
From horse-drawn bounty at farmer's gate
To city-bound trains of thundering freight
From weary travellers upon muddy trails
To cosseted passengers riding the rails
Now banished are the pot-holes that jangle the nerves
Banished also, those serpentine swerves
The highway robbers have disappeared too
Their trade destroyed by folk speeding through
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