The Crossing
The holidays always began for me
when the warning lights flashed red
and the line of cars at either side
of the great divide stopped dead.
Quick Dad! Quick! Come on! Come on!
I cried as the gates closed shut
and we stood with our hands together
not sure which way to look.
Up and down the shining rails
we heard the humming sound:
the song of drums of thunder
rippling over the ground
and the carriages of the East Coast Line
flew past in a blur of blue
and I never hear a train go by these days,
without a thought for you.
when the warning lights flashed red
and the line of cars at either side
of the great divide stopped dead.
Quick Dad! Quick! Come on! Come on!
I cried as the gates closed shut
and we stood with our hands together
not sure which way to look.
Up and down the shining rails
we heard the humming sound:
the song of drums of thunder
rippling over the ground
and the carriages of the East Coast Line
flew past in a blur of blue
and I never hear a train go by these days,
without a thought for you.
This poem is copyright (©) Andy Nuttall 2024
About the Writer
Andy Nuttall
Andy grew up in East Lancashire. He lives in the North-East of England where he works in social care. He has a children's poem currently published in Spellbinder Quarterly and has adult work showcased on the Iambapoet platform (Wave Six) curated by the poet Mark Antony Owen. He has appeared in Acumen Journal last year.