Stations of the Road

The geese crossed the moon, I
saw their formation and the
mass following, wings briefly
lit before the dark sky took
them - I heard their lovely
cries
then lost them in the dark

here, on the platform, the rough
groan of an engine, incessant,
on a nearby building site

a dog barks -
but apart from that
and one other person
the station is deserted

the wind is cold, there was
thick snow falling in the hills
how forlorn it is
to be alone
a long way from home -
the yellow windows of the
little town
and the smell of food
make me mourn

I watch the bright orange
running lights
telling me the train is late

he has tartan trews,
the man, and a leather
satchell over one shoulder,
he sits hunched over
on the platform bench

how bowed we are
by the cold, by all the
forlorn days that make us
old, we soon forget
the happy Christmases
and the beautiful food

without many things
there is much to make us brood
and seal our wings
on the long road that leads
back to our fields of green

I got a fright
when the fast train came
thundering through with
wind and a loud
blast of its horn

I hope my husband waits for me at the
little Leuchars station

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