On Hexthorpe Bridge

                                    Soot flecked and Tizered, we stood

waiting on Hexthorpe Bridge.

Scuffed shoes, scabbed knees

and ready.

                                    Word was out that the black snout

and garter blue was running late;

but none cared.

Stoked anticipation fired through

boys who knew that 4-6-2 and garter blue

would soon be steaming through.

Today was our audience with a queen;

a queen over Commonwealth, Dominion and Empire.

The shout went up and we hauled ourselves

onto the parapet to salute her;

to inhale her essence and worship her name.

Struck by Odin's hammer, the parapet

trembled as a hundred tons of 4468 thundered northwards

towards Valhalla, from whence she came;

leaving behind a taste of her very soul

Power forged by the gods lingered on the lips,

filled the nostrils and marinated the senses

of boys who would never forget.

Never forget that 4468, on that date, was

the queen of all she surveyed.