You are the Editor


The Station cat opens one eye with a frown,
Disturbed as the Distant and Starter drop down.
The gas lamps still hiss, and a distant dog barks.
The town is a resting, wrapped up in the dark.

The Newspaper train rushes in with a roar,
And many a bundle flies out of a door.
There's bustle and noise as the papers they drop,
Then on down the line to the next lonely stop.

The Branch train creeps In from its home in the shed.
The driver is wishing he was tucked up in bed.
Some papers, some parcels, some milk, nothing more;
And never a passenger opens a door.

The cat slowly stretches in a moment of hush.
It knows that it's time for the everyday rush.
She'll sleep on the signal box steps, and she'll snore,
Till the late setting sun brings the silence once more.

Dean Bottomlley
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