I spy folk on the bridge, securing their view
Of The Cathedrals Express, which is due to race through;
I carry on walking down towards the station,
Suddenly sharing their sense of anticipation.
I wonder to myself what time it's due;
My eyes are stuck to the track, like paper to glue.
I'm really hoping that I'll see it pass by,
And hear its piercing whistle joyfully cry.
I have an appointment in the centre of town,
So, unfortunately for me, I can't hang around;
Of the train's approach, I am quite unaware,
And, before my eyes, it is suddenly there.
Majestic carriages of burgundy and cream
Are pulled behind great clouds of white steam.
The Cathedrals Express thunders on by,
And the moment is gone in the blink of an eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem