Raptures of Our Lady Bromide
Let her curl up and sleep on the railway
Track. The locomotive's not coming now.
Biding its timetable
It's building up steam,
Going over its points once again ...
Or perhaps it is lost in some chilly siding
Black. The shunting-master greases his whip
Waits at the turntable
Circles his scheme
Fixing his terse upper lip
On the sleepers, her dreams are of coupling
Now. The driver can see the pressure mounting
Shaking the boiler
Forcing steam from valves
Under poplin and calico
Or perhaps she dreams of some small distant branch line
Cow, serving the remotest farmer's needs
Shaking its udders
Forcing steam from calves
Where the primrose and couch grass grow
But, keeping an eye on the signals,
Lo! An emergency swiftly unfolds
Calling for alert
Going off the rails
With ideas above its station
Contributors: | Roland, fester, P, Stacy Alexander, loaf, Grayman. |
Poem finished: | 31st October 2002. |