Poem By George Savige
We used to sit besides the track,
Watching trains go clickety clack.
We'd count each carriage passing by,
And smell the smoke that filled the sky.
A trick that made our parents pale,
Was lay our ears upon the rail
To listen for a steady drumming,
And know that soon a train was coming.
Then back we'd stand with cap in hand,
Our little hearts apounding.
We had no fear as we stood near,
And heard the whistle sounding.
Excitement there beyond compare,
The train had come at last.
And as a boy I'd jump for joy
As it went puffing past.
With widened eyes we'd watch the skies
Filled with smoke and steam.
Of things we did when we were kids,
This would be the cream.
But that's all gone. They've 'progressed' on.
There's something new each day.
And on the track we feel the lack,
The steam has passed away.