Flying Scotsman 

Standing in a row

Outside Waverley Station,

Fingers pushed through the wire.

Duffel coats and gloves,

Socks round ankles.

Black,

Everything black.

Pot-bellied trains

Spitting steam

Pushing and pulling

Hissing,

Fighting?

Fighting against the tide.

All come to a standstill

As the Flying Scotsman

Flashes under the bridge

And disappears from view

But not from sight.