The Tay Bridge engine wheezes
to a stop pulling six-wheeled coaches
in purple-brown. Nobody gets out
or in. On the platform snow drifts
over the Roxburgh stone
at Saughtree station.
So does the train.
I am left with hail cutting
my face. An arctic hare bounds
across the frozen fields.
Ung-unk. Pink-footed geese, slender
as sewing needles, glide
through the sky, wolf-grey.
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