The Station cat opens one eye with a frown,
Disturbed as the Starter and Distant drop down.
The gas lamps still hiss, and a distant dog barks
The town Is a resting, wrapped up in the dark.
The Newspaper train rushes in with a roar,
And many a bundle flies out of a door.
There's bustle and noise as the papers they drop,
Then on down the line to the next lonely stop.
The Branch train creeps In from its home in the shed.
The driver is wishing he was tucked up in bed.
Some papers, some parcels, some milk, nothing more;
And never a passenger opens a door.
The cat slowly stretches in a moment of hush.
It knows that it's time for the everyday rush.
She’ll sleep on the signal box steps, and she'll snore,
Till the late setting sun brings the silence once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The rhythm did come through in your write...like the chugging of the train, itself...I very much like your clever poem. Glad I stopped by the station, just in time to catch it.