The Great Western Poem by linda blackwell

Higher, lower, faster, slower,
The great train flies down the tracks.
Through the meadows past cows and sheep,
Into the forest and into the deep,
Rabbits fleeing
Branches swinging
Leaves fire-off like a fountain.
Out of the forest and up a mountain,
Past dark caves and jagged rocks,
As high as the bird in the sky they flock,
Over a river flowing fast,
A horse neighs as we speed past.
Over a bridge, through a tunnel,
Smoke blurts out from the trains funnel.
Up a hill facing the sky,
With great white clouds in the blue up high.
In to a town past houses and shops,
Back down the hill the train drops.
Gaining speed, facing into the wind.
The train's horn calls,
As the train falls
Into a valley with rock walls.
The silence that surrounds
No animals around.
Out of the valley the station is in sight,
The end of the travel is nearing,
In the distance people are waving,
The brakes start working and whirring
And the speed recedes.
A few metres to go,
The train is very slow.
Round the last bend,
And the journey ends.