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