The train departing platform five, has summer’s eyes
Porthcurno blue, padstow skies,

Platform ten is on the phone, asking when,
Will dinner be ready tonight?

Platform eight, is a weekend’s escape
Cotswold meadows, four posts,
Breakfast in bed.

Platform fourteen, brings tourists landing,
A guidebook, suitcase bursting at the seems
The melee of calm and wonder at the palace gate,
Piccadilly, Polaroid dreams.

Platform seven, won’t leave till eleven,
Fast food, slow thought, iPod playing
Asleep to the end of the line.


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