The Train Journey
The fireman shovelled on the coal,
The driver blew the whistle;
The coaches lurched - away we went,
Through heather and the thistle.
The rain was cold and bleaching down,
Though I didn't have a care;
The countryside was flying by,
And wind blew through my hair.
The speed amazed me as we went,
The way we travelled on;
In the fields the sheep looked up,
And scattered all as one.
Clickety clack the wheels went round,
Driven by the power,
Of steam and smoke - and wheel and spoke,
At sixty miles an hour.
A mile a minute traveling now,
Speeding forth with grace;
My heart stood still,
As we climed the hill,
To the crest at such a pace.
Down the hill we went this time,
Full speed and going with ease;
The driver blew the whistle again,
As we travelled through the trees.
Past the level crossing gates,
We flew with such a pace,
The children stood and waved at us,
A smile upon each face.
Slowing down apporoaching now,
The platform of the station,
The thrill had gone-
When the brakes came on,
For the journeys termination.
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Comments about this poem (The Train Journey by Trevor Jenkins )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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