Farmer's Halt (Poetry)

Just a platform grey and bare
no sign of movement anywhere
old wooden seat, a litter bin
a weathered sign, its paint worn thin
our train drew up with a soft hiss
then still as stone, breath held as if
waiting patiently for some
expected passenger to come

The silence lengthened ... not a sound
no one arrived — no reason found
to linger in this lonely spot
that seemed abandoned, like as not
to ghosts of travellers long gone
whose earthly journeys had moved on
yet on some evenings who could tell
what hand had rung that rusted bell?

Another minute dragged on by
the engine gave a drawn-out sigh
then slowly, slowly chuffed away ...
It’s more years than I care to say
since I last travelled on that line
my sight back than was sharp and fine
I saw a farm boy plain as plain
who waved to someone on our train

I’ve searched and searched — no record yet
on maps or on the Internet
of Farmer’s Halt — a mystery
while still in dreams he’s haunting me
a farm boy wearing a straw hat
as large as life and standing at
the platform’s edge — that image saved
his farewell captured as he waved ...