I love to stand on the platform at night
Just waiting for passengers not present.
The eerie loneliness should inspire fright
But the solitude feels calm and pleasant.

I like to imagine passengers past
And the stories they might have one day told;
A meeting of loves that may be their last
Or of strangers with romance to unfold.

I like to smell the Victorian stone
And wander backwards down history’s stream.
Wondering if it is just I alone
That can smell memories of coal made steam.

I like to gaze at the tracks as they go
Disappearing over the darkness’ edge.
It’s like my heart and mind follows their flow
Pulling me closer to the platform’s edge.

I like to wonder what tales they would tell
If these old stations would just up and speak;
Would they tell tales of loved ones wishing well
As travelers would new horizons seek?

I like to sit beneath these arched glass roofs
And stare through the mire built up over time,
At the murky moonbeams piercing these proofs
That history can add beauty to grime.

And even when train I wait for arrives
And awaited loved one does disembark,
I like to remember all of the lives
Touched by this gothic, romantic landmark.