When I was a child there was a railway station at Grove Ferry

I often caught trains to other parts of Kent from its lonely platforms

A ferry crossed the river at the time

As the bridge had not been built

And I used to watch as cars and vans were transported slowly across the Stour

 

Today from my window I can see the bridge that replaced the ferry

There is more traffic and the peace of my childhood is no more

Cars vans and many lorries travel over the relaxed spans of the bridge

As the quiet river flows beneath

 

Trains to and from Canterbury pass in timed procession

But none stop at the ghost station on the opposite bank

 

You are sitting at my desk with the summer sun

Streaming through your golden hair

I run my fingers through your mane

You smile but do not speak

For you are writing a history

Of the Kent cornfields

With my electric pen