It’s years since they closed
The railway down.
Life has slowly taken hold, crept in
And covered the tracks that brought jobs to this town.
Moss grows along the cross-ties.
A metaphor for our families’ lives.
The loss of work, the hopelessness.
Trees have sprouted in defiance
And greened our world.
The railway was life,
Frenetic, frenzied,
But somehow sterile.
Now the railroad has become
A unique part of our landscape,
Natural, beautiful, crowded, living.
And in a mysterious way,
Our pride returned,
And hope for better things.
Yes, it’s years since they closed
The railway down.

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