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I go to the station and get my fare,
I get onboard closing the door.
Sitting down, the train begins to move.
Slowly but surley it gains pace.
Trees rush past to the rhythem of speed
theres a blur and then a noise
Another train flashes past at haste
The rocking so soothing and yet hard
I fall asleep from the motion and warmth
I'm woken by an inspector "its the last stop"
I gather my things and get off.
She is the mother of travel, She is the train.

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The following comments are for "Mother of travel"
by Colwyn

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