The Inkwell
from inkdrop – poetry, places and events
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Category: Engine
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The train was never late, not in our town. Track fixed on a surface, brown. Two lines with sidings and stations along the way Three clockwork engines with wagons to play Going down two tracks from east to the west passing through bridges built by the best And Engine made sound, like the locos of…
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Little Old Red is resting, he’s done its best. When the world was at war, and bombs fell to the floor These crafty bombs made fire over concrete and grass so firecrews met round him to work they’d amass. Putting out fires and protecting from damage, A meal th’crew would eat was the most they…
The Inkwell 