Whilst we are slaving away at the ESNG show today, I present a cultural interlude (be grateful – you get precious little culture on this blog).
Phil sent me this poem. He didn’t know to whom the verse is attributable, so apologies for not adding the author.
The End of The Line
The line has gone,
They’ve closed it down,
The gleaming rails have turned to brown,
The station’s closed, deserted, bare,
Decay and rubble everywhere.
Boarded windows, broken glass,
Platform garden choked with grass
And weeds (no prizes now). An air
Of desolation and despair,
No busy, bustling, friendly life
( A single please, But how’s the wife?)
No chocolate in the slot machine
( One doubts if there has ever been )
No 4 – 6 – 2 ‘s, no steam, no smoke.
No slamming doors. No busy folk
To spill from 1st’s and 3rd’s. No greetings,