The Ghost Train

I didn’t want to let him go.

After all, he was only five.

“Come on mum,” says Senior Seven,

“I’ll guard him with my life.”

I studied them, standing tall and straight.

They looked so big and grown.

I felt a strong nostalgic wave.

Where had my little ones gone?

I stretched across to get a hug

as they entered through the gate.

But they both squirmed neatly out of reach.

Sissy cuddles?  No thanks mate.

Again the thought ‘where have they gone?’

My babies of last year?

Sunrises and sets have insidiously

been stealing them from me.

So on the ghost train they did ride.

All by themselves they went.

And the scream began the moment

they disappeared into the tent.

It was a shriek, it didn’t stop.

And the journey was long and slow.

The long loud wail of Master Five,

echoed throughout the Show.

I heard the howl – high-pitched and scared.

(And that ride it was so slow.)

And when Master Five stepped off the train

his face was as white as snow.

His eyes were wide and huge in his head.

His skin was almost transparent.

The jaunt had been no joy for him.

I felt the worst of parents.

I watched them as they ran to me

no longer so grown and big.

I spread my arms out open wide

then held tight both my kids.

And Senior Seven stood brave and strong.

(‘Tho his legs shook to the utmost.)

“That’s the last time I ride with him.

He scared me more than the ghost!”