Hiss and steam approaching grandly from The distance. We wait excitedly to get into Its first class coaches. Arm rests, linen Chair backs, heavy cutlery, and lamps in Frilly shades on every table. We'll be Part of the journey, hurtling on through All the days of Christmas. It goes straight through.
Few trains stop here any more.
The platforms are disintegrating. Weeds grow where the station name was Picked out in white pebbles, and Mossy buffers rust neglected in the sidings. Where trucks once clanged at night Around the coal yard, into the silent Darkness come dim outlines of those Who now live in only the sidings. In the cold wind of tonight, they came With candles guttering and fragile. Lighting One another's, sitting down around the bonfire - Their huge Christmas candle, where Some were quietly singing an old carol.