Her undercarriage thunders low
Above a rusty ragweed track
A freight train out of Felixstowe
A full mile long she'll rumble back
And having smelt the Suffolk sea
The long flat fields that clad the fens
She'll grumble into Midlands yards
" It's on the cards, it's on the cards."
With sea containers, iron ore
And pine to stack a timber store
Or minerals and merchandise:
Egyptian spuds, Basmati Rice
And all her network none the worse
For Dr Beeching's creaking curse
She'll whistle at the Midlands moon:
"Returning soon, returning soon!"
She pauses in a passing-loop
To let the Intercity through
While somewhere near a chicken coop
A cockerel queries " What's to do?"
When dawn comes over, slouching by
To drape itself across the sky
She sends the waiting day a text:
"Nuneaton next. Nuneaton next."
Impatient till the journey ends
With stations packed, commuters grave
A whiff of steel and diesel blends
With coffee, bagels, aftershave
They're in a daze - or dozing there
Till mournful on the Midlands air
She wails to say she's coming through
"Heart of England - much to do!"
//////////////////////
In a week when it's been announced that a huge increase
in the use of goods trains will rid the motorway of 12,000 lorries per
day.