Slow Train to Portpatrick

Going home,
knowing that you won't be there.

Going home
with a light suitcase
and a heavy heart.

Mark E. Smith's on the tannoy,
telling me there's no buffet.

I board the slow train Memory.

All of the happy stops,
along my childhood journey,
you were always there
with smiles and laughter
and a plate of Tunnock's Teacakes.

You were my kindred spirit.
Now I'm on my own,
passing through border towns
miles from Carlisle.

This is the landscape I love,
blurred behind a veil of tears.
Our lives pass much too fast
and gather speed down the years.

Now we wave each other off -
It's time for us to go.
You, to your heavenly platform
and me, way down below.

B.R. 26/11/2014

If you don't love these then I'm afraid we can't be friends