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Peter Morriss
Laurencekirk, Scotland

We rode the Northern Lights on her ribbons of steel,
To the land of the north the Scots hold leal;
We sped along on her rails of steel,
That sing a song to the turning wheel.
Riding the rails through hill and dale,
that carry the Flying Scot and the Royal Mail.
Moving at speed, eating away at the miles,
Passing meadows, hedgerows and styles;
Flashing by churches of tall steeple,
Villages and towns of her island people.

On to the land of moor and Tyne,
Pulling into Newcastle, she's on time.
Passes the great wall of the north,
Leaving behind the land, where the marches
of Jarrow once set forth.
Her kind no longer shovel smoke over the shoulder,
As she passes moorland, peak and boulder;
Flashing by billboards with advertising poster,
On to the Lion Of The North, on to the border.

Leaving behind Berwick-Upon-Tweed to join
with the salt blown spray-
Running in line with the Great North Way.
Pulls into Edinburgh and Waverley Station,
Home to GreyFriars Bobby, regarded with fond
On to the land of the north, riding the rails
that bind a nation,
Over the Tay to Dundee Station.

Forging ahead along the coastal trail,
To the highlands of Scotland she now gives hail!
On through the purple hills cloaked of pine,
Arriving at Stonehaven, she's made good time,
And here for two of her travellers it's the
end of the line,
Where with three small boys their arms entwine.
Ahead, Aberdeen the Granite City,
Awaits this train, the Northern Lights of the
East Coast Service of Inter-City.

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