L.M.S. Express

The railway engine shrills her whistle, full
Of a melancholy dark significance;
A haunting note, a passing world's farewell
It sounded then, as it does now, as once
Again I hear it in a film. The crack
Express is packed with ladies in opaque
And sombre garb, the gentlemen in thick
Drab suits, with ties and trilby hats, all stark

On monochromic celluloid. I can
Remember speeding trains and folk like that
Because they were the childhood world I'd known;
Their modes then seemed secure-now vanished quite.

I watch the train approach and hurtle by;
Its ghostly passengers, a world, to die.