Celtic Journey

Jul 6, 2014, 1:07 AM |

Celtic Journey




Train station bustles with travellers waiting, for the 09:12, late; frustrating,


7 minutes, it arrives, friends family say goodbyes,


Climb aboard; first class travel, how much more will the journey unravel?


Take our seats we're set for a ride, Edinburgh bound; Leith harbour side,


Watch the clock and it blurs my vision, time sends me, into derision,


A slow hiss, and the doors slither to, snake of conveyance, startles a few,


It slides away, clunking wheels, Sheffield hewn, from crucible steels?


Pita pat pita pat, gathering pace, school-yard rhyme, a different place,


A baby's complaint to all on board, upsets the rhythm with such discord,


Jingle jangle a trolley arrives, laden with food to soothe the cries,


Of the impatient toddler in her mother's arms, who's smile and eyes suitably charms,


The disgruntled dapper gent at the side who had looked away as if to decide,


If the youngster really was his child that once was so meek and mild! Hush!!...


...Shush... as tempos fall, a steam-train passes, few can recall...


The Oliver Cromwell, heavy...deliberate in motion, train spotters gather with mixed emotion,


The past now here is soon long gone, except the child, sees nothing wrong.


We depart from York on the 11:19 with a change of crew, eager and keen,


Sir and madam, class distinction, somethings never reach extinction.


With each second the vista changes, commented on by excited exchanges,


Greens yellows clouds of White, watch the seagulls soar in flight,


Heading to a Celtic land, bonny Scotland with bagpipe band,


Waverley station platform five, very soon we do arrive,


Slowly travellers all depart, as their exploration now will start,


Who's on next when train returns, to the poetic land known for Burns.








©Chris Matthews 04/07/2014