Fleet mercury, swift messenger, in summer sun,
Climbs high, confined in tubes of glass.
But woe betide electric train who tries to run,
With sagging wire or buckling rail, 'tis doomed to wait.

Wait a while, for autumn fall of leaf.
Discarded russet, orange, brown, the husk of summer bounty.
Fall, each year, on miles of track and doom, again
Electric train, to stand and wait the season past.

Fast, quick silver plunges down the tube
As winter shrinks him, freezing blast of icy wind.
Driving snow where trains won't go and driving briefcase wielding man
Around the bend or up the wall.

Like cattle, brolly clutching herds, sit steaming as they wait and paint their nails
And long for spring and trains that run.
But woe betide commuters fair, who hope in season new.
Blossom smiles and birdies sing and miles of track lay shimmering in the sun.

Oh train, oh train the way is clear, the weather fair.
Why do we wait, why won't you run? 'Tis spring.
Renewal, the year born new, refreshed and full of hope
'My driver's gone on strike!'  

(c) Peter Roots