Long swaths cut through a forest green.
Railroad engines powered by steam.
But no rails now in wait for trains,
Charging through with wood and grains.
Occasional trestle, overgrown ties,
Creosote stains where memory dies.
For some who walk and remember when
Steam engines pounded the wood and glen.
Nostalgia comes, old eyes form tears
Happy memories of former years.
Beautiful island of reddened shale,
Now boasts long miles of nature trail.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
October 2003.
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