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elcome Sight . . . !


Her shapely right leg looks strangely awkward:

it doesn't seem to be attached properly,

misaligned, as it crosses over her left.

The blue shadows on the light-toned platform

also appear, oddly, darker than the sky

- and where's the door to the Ladies, or


As she sits on her brown, labelled suitcase

on a small, deserted country station,

the welcome sight of an approaching

old steam train is tantalisingly matched

by the evocative black stocking top,

revealing its enticing presence from

the bold pose of her white, split-skirted dress.

The bright sun also appears misguided

by the sight of all this anticipation,

as its casts variant shadows over

the station's awning and the girl's posture.

And the widening gulf of the train track

running next to her appears somewhat 

exaggerated, as it enlarges

in appreciation to meet her.

But in all this bucolic beauty

of a mind's eye projecting its dreamscape,

who's to say what prompted her to depart?

And why she had to leave a life alone,

where her services were no longer required?

She sits upright and proud, now, in her

white, yellow-banded, averted sun hat,

and lives in a teasing phrase's ellipse

and exclamation, permanently stilled,

waiting to feed the coy fantasy of

an old artist and his keen sightseers,

as they step with her on a romance train

of glide to a future's pure paradise.


A place where her right leg is perfect,

and the sun knows where it's meant to be

in a light blue sky radiant with warmth

and desire and far, distant yearning.

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