{"id":"69c53a01948ce0defd0a4489","title":"Poetry Corner","path":"publications/annual-reviews/2025/poetry-corner","contentMarkdown":"# Poetry Corner\n\n## Railway Path\n\nLate winter light lengthens.\nFootpaths beckon:\neven the railway path that ducks\nunder hooped blackthorn, laurel, hawthorn\nin a slow curve beside the tracks bearing\ntrains to town.\n\nBy night flickering lamps filter\nfly-specked beams between skittish branches—\nor not—where some have long burned out.\nTrees wave & dip, shake out shadows longer\nthan light across our path.\n\nSticks crack.\nHard not to turn & turn again\nwith a frisson of fear\nto see if we are followed.\n\nYet that shaft of terror stabs\nwith a kind of childish glee.\nWe walk on—\neyes tricked, bemused\nby shifting clouds of white sloe-blossom\nghostly in the dark;\nears reaching for every sound.\n\nBut by spring daylight, all is changed,\nfamiliar, settled to its ordinary self.\nThe railway path is a muddy way\nof new green leaves strung\nbetween the banks of blackthorn blossom.\nIf wind is blowing, no one notices.\nWe watch for an ancient walker\nwho daily totters the path with his old terrier.\nWe listen for the hiss & crackle of the rails\nthat signal a train’s approach.\nIt glides along, curved in the cutting below,\nalmost silent.\n\nLate for school, a boy hurtles past on his bike,\nshouts *Sorry* and is gone,\nlike the train,\nlike the shadows\nof the nights before.\n\n*© Lizzie Ballagher*\n\n![](https://kent.ngx-ramblers.org.uk/api/aws/s3/site-content/992daea2-257b-410f-8281-c0c16f604f33.jpeg)","contentHtml":"<h1>Poetry Corner</h1>\n<h2>Railway Path</h2>\n<p>Late winter light lengthens.\nFootpaths beckon:\neven the railway path that ducks\nunder hooped blackthorn, laurel, hawthorn\nin a slow curve beside the tracks bearing\ntrains to town.</p>\n<p>By night flickering lamps filter\nfly-specked beams between skittish branches—\nor not—where some have long burned out.\nTrees wave &amp; dip, shake out shadows longer\nthan light across our path.</p>\n<p>Sticks crack.\nHard not to turn &amp; turn again\nwith a frisson of fear\nto see if we are followed.</p>\n<p>Yet that shaft of terror stabs\nwith a kind of childish glee.\nWe walk on—\neyes tricked, bemused\nby shifting clouds of white sloe-blossom\nghostly in the dark;\nears reaching for every sound.</p>\n<p>But by spring daylight, all is changed,\nfamiliar, settled to its ordinary self.\nThe railway path is a muddy way\nof new green leaves strung\nbetween the banks of blackthorn blossom.\nIf wind is blowing, no one notices.\nWe watch for an ancient walker\nwho daily totters the path with his old terrier.\nWe listen for the hiss &amp; crackle of the rails\nthat signal a train’s approach.\nIt glides along, curved in the cutting below,\nalmost silent.</p>\n<p>Late for school, a boy hurtles past on his bike,\nshouts <em>Sorry</em> and is gone,\nlike the train,\nlike the shadows\nof the nights before.</p>\n<p><em>© Lizzie Ballagher</em></p>\n<p><img src=\"https://kent.ngx-ramblers.org.uk/api/aws/s3/site-content/992daea2-257b-410f-8281-c0c16f604f33.jpeg\" alt=\"\"></p>\n"}