The pitiless platform of Emsworth Railway Station

A few weeks ago, I stood on the platform of Emsworth Railway Station - we were saying goodbye to Sophie, who was catching the train for Waterloo - I waited, with Anne and Sophie for the train - the train was on time, as it always must be -

We'd spent the day at a house my brother had rented for the week - there'd been a family gathering - I'd seen stalwart uncles, wise aunts, my dear parents -

As we stood upon the platform, the pale early evening sky was made magical by the afterglow of sunset - delicate reds and pinks ravished the eye - there were no stars showing yet, or moon, or clouds -

I wondered if I was looking, by some rare chance, at the sky of a different world - perhaps, beyond the vanishing point of those shining rails, there was a golden land -

My friend, Richard, has written a heartfelt poem, inspired by this railway station - he has seen rare sights, bright jungles, long suffering people -

I thought of him, as I stood here - I thought about poetry, and the glamour it casts - perhaps moments like this were given to us as gifts - unsolicited, undeserved -