The Station

The station is sleeping, All is quiet.
Not a single person is about, no one is there.
This station is empty
For many years this station has slept,
For not since the days of steam has anyone travelled here.

The buildings are silent,
Nobody works here anymore
As the moss grows on the platform,
And the ivy climbs the walls,
Only an old ginger cat visits this place,
To sleep in the sun of the waiting room.

The ticket office remains untidy, as the day it was left,
Newspapers in the waiting room,
30 years out of date.
This station was happy, years ago
With its two stately platforms, on a quiet country line,
The approach all leafy and green.

The village it served has changed,
No more the quiet sleepy hamlet
But commuters to the big city,
All with their two or three big cars.
No-one gives a thought - for an old village station
or for travelling by train.

Now this station just waits,
For the day it knows must come,
When the train again is superior,
And passengers will once more gather upon the platform
And make this station proud.

Chris McKenna

27/04/98 12:40 - 13:25
Written in Learning Resource Centre and tutor room at school

Back to poetry index

Back to main index

Copyright (C) Chris Mckenna 1998.