Shunting yards

Blackbirds and thrushes
On the frozen lawn,
The shunting yards are white.
At night the wagons
Clanged their messages
Along the lines,
I wonder when they sleep.
The lines run south
Through frozen fields,
My thoughts speed along
But cannot reach you.
Now the sun rises
Over the Devon hills
And black and white cows
Move out to pasture.

31st March 1973