Cast iron rails, uncoiled like snakes,
a beast of blackened smoke awakes.
It's whistle cleaves the night's repose,
and steals all sleep wherever it goes

howls its tune on through dawn
A shining of steel and thunderous form.
The village quakes beneath rumbling tread,
and blossoms yield to wind gust it fed.

It hauls it's secrets, long misanthrope,
Of travellers bound for horizons of hope.
a child in the thrill of adventure unbound
a widow, grief stricken, in suffering is drowned

Its wheels may obey the hill and the climb,
Yet it heeds no master; least of all time.
rails stretch on, indifferent and vast,
Each mile is an echo of infinite, past.

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