View From the Bridge

VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE From the bridge, track the ghosts of line, goods yard, Old Town Station Where we lingered and noted the numbers of each passing train Web of steel and of steam entwined village and town across nation 'Til Arcadian rural slow lines suffered untimely wane Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought in telling perceptions The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair Then was school run not cosseted chauffeured, in family car But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market and station Our little world teamed with action, unscreened, with no bar Of health and safety; adventure without filtration In that world we seemed in different incarnation So are we the same people, and do we now view the same place? Can we yet discern immortality's intimation? The adventure goes on though perhaps at a difference pace.