Having had Rev and Mrs Marple for dinner and talked extensively about railways, I think a bit of Betjeman is in order.
Still heavy with may, and the sky ready to fall,
Meadow buttercup high, shed and chickens and wire?
And here where the wind leans on a sycamore silver wall,
Are you still taller than sycamores, gallant Victorian spire?
Still, fairly intact, and demolishing squads about,
Bracketed station lamp with your oil light taken away?
Weep flowering currant, while your bitter cascades are out,
Born in an age of railways, for flowering today!