Within the razor sharp tangle of snake pit thick growth rise vigorous rods with limbs bursting green from industrial planter of breeze block drab walls, once home for engines growl and worker’s sweat. Shouting they're busy with production of what, who remembers? And of their dreams? Long decayed and past. And passed I have travelled into shadows from brilliance hid by black clouds swollen so mighty and menacing with falling springtime. Now tears streak the glass, soft, warm, plump and the train rolls onwards tracking its path through time.