Poem

 Towers Remain

In the flat light of morning,
Shadowless dawn of white and grey;
Chrome crested crusaders,
Glide above a frozen plain
On a silver metal train.

The metallic light of midday,
Steady from hour to hour;
The grey stone of the towers,
Framed by regular, clear, glass panes
And a single, pale, orange flame,
Forge the civil power.

In the even light of evening,
Uniform towers proclaim
The flanking of the silent train;
Which casts a faded shadow
Beyond the silver plain.

Muted in the fading hour,
One flame lightens the darkening grey
Wall of a tower-
Laughter through the snow,
The glow is on the chrome crests
Reflecting off the flame.