I

He Measure of All Things

The model railway, big as a garden,
Running by paths, streams, leafy trees,
And electric smoke that offends no-one,
So that the journeys and movements and tickets
And whistles and signals—red above green—
Are real, so real (more real than the dull,
Gritty, inhibited railways we know),
And the Dance of the Flutes always there in the background!

All the same, I think I can remember
The downhill stretch from Athenree
When I'd stand outside on the end carriage
Watching the rails shoot out behind
And the sides of the cutting go higher and higher;
And I think I would say to myself just then,
"All railways are good, if you treat them right,"
And I think I still agree.