TANGMERE at Folkestone Harbour - by Ruth Parkinson

it rests awhile, the steam, its steady breath, the coals, its warm heart, of a sudden, at such a pace, its lungs begin to race, a whistle is blown, iron and steel gather momentum... then …. it is no more .... I hear, in the distance, its mournful cry,  I watch its breath evaporate amongst the roof tops, as it steals away up the steep gradient, and that little harbour station is left alone, again, so alone