THE CITY IS A POEM

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 "The "Innocent" Railway"

Amelia Rowland, 2012

 A clump of coal falls, it lands with a soft thud,

 And as quickly as it was loaded at Dalkeith,

It is just as quickly forgotten, in the warm, slick mud.

The wheels of this carriage have long kept turning,

The ashen-faced carriage master cannot stop

Such a fanciful amount doesn’t match the earning. 

The blackened remnants of coal

They are promptly swept away,
For a new commuter is waiting at bay.

“I shan’t take a carriage run by such trickery!” A maiden did cry,

And upon this ground,

What did she spy?

A horse took this maiden, this fresh-faced and bonnily-laced,

Up unto Edinburgh town by a carriage.

The year was 1839 and the area did prosper,

A large amount of passengers, this land did foster.

In 1963, a silence fell.

This land all at once became nothing but a shell

Of it’s former use, and the function it did own.

One day, a mere 20 years on,

A new wheel touched this track, and it did not take this land as loan.

A cold controlled line of cement did worm,

And a new commuter did promptly learn,

Of the beauty of riding down such an even track.

The speed at which they now do fly, has meant that they don’t possess a trained eye,

To the remnants and memories of a former wheeled flight,

A commemorative plaque is quietly scrawled upon in the dead of night.