(contributed to the museum circa 1993/1994)
West of London a tiny station sits
its semaphore rigid beside the line
but all the traffic passes unaware
of a different area, a bygone time.
Locomotives pull assorted trains
through this sleepy little place,
diesels groan, where steam once ruled
in an unromantic change of pace.
Yet the rail still humm
with the commerce of the day,
some say more, others say less
on this historic right of way.
However, there is a difference now,
the trains don't stop here anymore,
either they rush, or trundle by,
with a whistle, rumble, groan or roar.
But the little station holds it's place,
a tribute to the storied past,
and grace the gentle countryside,
a heritage destined to last.
Then in the time a museum went up,
built by folks with memories to share,
they made there tribute of wood and steel,
for artifact, both, unique and rare.
On summer nights the trains pass by,
their sounds swallowed by the dark,
here no roundtable, watertank or wye,
just ribbons of steel beside this park.
In winter's grip the cold hangs still,
creating frost painted windowpanes,
on station, shed and baggage car.
As each day ends the past remains,
so seasons come and seasons go,
but the true test of time
is the tiny station in Komoka
between the CN and CP mainline.
Now for all the sons and the daughters,
who never saw the age of steam,
what matters is the spirit lives
and things still are not might have been.
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