Relics of the Beeching Axe,
Reminding me of better days,
A brace of rusty railway tracks
Divide and go their separate ways.
The cutting walls rise, cool and steep,
Shutting out the waning light,
Sharing secrets that they keep
With no-one else but me tonight.
And halfway through and just ahead,
Crouching there, beside the line,
A long-forgotten railway shed
That sends a shiver down my spine.
I dare not stop - I dare not peep
Inside that dark, decrepit room.
Keep it hidden. Let it sleep.
And leave behind the wretched gloom.
JJ Creber
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cutting-a-short-cut/
