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The train now standing at platform 2

The train now standing at platform 2 is empty now,
its windows still fogged by smut and smog
that lapped the sides for the time of its reign.

Its seats depressed by ghostly bottoms of long ago,
that sat, expectantly on their way through.
They're essence fills the very air we breathe.

Now the train holds no one, no laughter, no chatter.
It just sits on a mocked up platform at York Museum
to amuse tourists, those eager, bright eyed, faces.

It holds tightly to memories, its past, those well kept secrets,
somehow wanting, so much, to tell all it has seen.
Its driver, with blackened fingers and grubby face

no longer steers its mighty coaches along a well used track,
but his presence is sensed by all that walk _
through the 10.15……

stopping at quaint villages
seaside towns, lovers trysts,
new homes and all stations to destiny.

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