THE WIND BLOWS

The wind blows leaves down from the trees
Confetti in the breeze
It's raining gold and silver now
Down on the stone and steel
A 125 drifts swiftly by
And ploughs straight through the leaves
Enveloping the coaches as
Through countryside it weaves
The train is picturesquely framed
A million golden curls
Float gently round its bodyshell
And in its wake they swirl