Regular as clockwork, transport sounds
invigorate our ears with almost rhythmical lull.
Even the saplings
bear witness to the rush and motioned frivolity
they make in an attempt to pierce the sound barrier.
Bridgend via Tondu,
go the sighs of approval,
countless as they all board their festive carriage.
In a time further back though, Llan gives light to a yester year
ending in seventy one through a haze of steam
Crowds on the now fractured platform that has come
of age and past its prime; hailing down their lifts.
now on the platform shell and hear that ghostly
bustle that was very much its era.
Today falls the silent rush and clack of the railroad
that ushered in countless more to this valley’s
Bracken browned and sun dried lie the vegetation’s
drape of the past, still there if you tune in.
sidings sadly are now the audience who sit
and wait, wait for the through train to Maesteg’s heart.