I find it strange that I notice first the clumps of hardy Grass,

random and stark, sprouting from beneath the ballast’s Mass,

born from lithic Dark.

When away to the distance arc steel Rails once new and bright,

now with viral rust, torpid corruption relentless Day and Night

their purpose to adjust.

Now no Engines claw along it’s length to who knows where,

only ghosts of the past, from carriage windows blankly stare,

coming home at last.

I wonder who they were ?



3 thoughts on “GHOST TRAIN

  1. Haunting poetry Nigel. Your poetry and picture brings back childhood memories of playing amongst abandoned coal wagons. Did the tracks have British Steel: Workington on them?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Davy, I can’t say I noticed. I was inspired by a local branch line called the ghost train. It ran literally once a year to take the local mill workers to Bridlington for their annual Wakes Week hols, feeding onto the east coast mainline.

      Liked by 1 person

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