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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
Postcard Game #3 – An odd railway station – What make it special? What's its name?
Some of you asked me to post some photos, so I've decided to make this postcard a photo riddle.
Below are 3 photos of a railway station I passed through recently. There are not anymore regular trains going through these tracks, but the station is still there for historical purposes. Looking at the photos, could you tell me what make this railway station peculiar?
(3 reasons) What's the name of this station?
Good luck! ^-^
It befits a man to be merry and glad
Until the day of his death.