Eastleigh train depot,
Abandoned and brown.
Home to old carriages with
Names like Sea Urchin
Printed on their stomachs,
In faded yellow paint.
Gardens grow in the sleepers,
For they have slept for too long.
And then we pass
Through Botley
With its fern leaves and
Blackberry trees,
And the old railroad
Which runs like a ghost
Alongside our train window.
property of silver4chris protected by copyright 2015
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