Journey By Train Poem by Len Webster

Am I reaching the pale stretch home now?
Wire-lines are confused and a complex pattern
Is weaving its changing way past scrapyards
And ghost-inhabited derelict stations.

Brushwood is sparse yet a thick undergrowth has
Busied its way skyward at the point
Where the canal intersects us, where the ghost
Of horse-beef nightly pulls the boat on.

Clouds come together but lights glint at a distance,
An ever-diminishing distance between this body and home.

A black and yellow windmill on a white base in
The garden of plenty, a floodlit lineside spectacle
For passengers on board this comfort creature
Which snakes insidiously home, the last stop
Of this, the last train in the night.