Carnforth
There's a spot on the horizon
In the ripple of the sun
Where railway lines and stanchions fuse
And merge, becoming one.
I was staring from the platform
When a distant dot appeared.
It grew in size and shape and form
And sounded as it neared.
I caught blurred faces turning
As they thundered by so fast
To briefly glimpse where strangers met
Each Thursday in the past.
Back then the steam and music
Lit up life's black and white.
By tugging strings when love went wrong
Rachmaninoff was right.
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