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The Railwayman Leaves

Through an arch, away from town,
A rusty railway seeks its end.

Here once fluttered Nature's gown,
A lonely railway's growing friend.

Such bouquets as Summer's pride,
The skylark's towering peal of bells

Are wreaths and mutes at its graveside:
A loser's serenade of knells.

Fresh and pure nomadic breeze,
Huntsman of the wider way,

Helmsman to the small-lived bees
That worship beauties of their day,

Veers back towards that arch-framed hill
That oversaw its quarried town:

An ancient pride they could not still,
With Penshaw Monument its crown.

There heads simple family pleasure,
A man out walking with his son

And learning how to find this treasure
His little girl his arm has won.

There once more the lines will gleam
This made good by turning wheel;

But through an arch, away from town
A rusty railway seeks its end.
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