A poem by Rob Cowen
Rain falls on the words of Edward Thomas
As I wait by a railway line.
And feel a crushing sense of loss,
Of time past, and the passing time.
There’s space in the waiting room, a woman says,
And a radio playing, but I want to be alone.
Away from jostling football fans,
Beside a willow stripped by deer, to bone.
Along the platform, past ‘The Bistro’,
Past a fence and at the concrete’s end.
I watch a flock of a Canada Geese go,
Westward in a drifting bend.
The rain falls and falls,
Flooding fields, as if to say:
We all change state,
Like the dry leafs of The South Country, changing now from cream to grey,
Shrinking and crinkling, merging into one,
Until to turn one makes it come away,
And two more trains have been and gone.
This isn’t the first station to know his touch,
Nor, being August, will this be the last rain this year,
But I sense an ending and, as such,
It’s almost more than I can bear.
Rob Cowen is an award-winning writer and journalist. He will be joining us on the Caught by the River stage at The Good Life Experience, 18-20 September. More info here.
Rob’s memoir, Common Ground, is available in the Caught by the River shop. Read Ben Myers’ review here.