Day 18 in the #NaPoWriMo Challenge

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Day 18’s optional prompt, to write a poem that involves an urgent journey and an important message. It could be historical, mythical, entirely fictional, or memoir-ical. ~ via The NaPoWriMo Website

 

So with “Day 18’s Prompt” I have chosen a Poem by Australian Poet – Banjo Patterson, then after that is my interpretation to todays prompt in the Challenge! 

Happy reading and hope you all enjoy!

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bnjo

THE FLYING GANG

A Railroad Song

I served my time, in the days gone by,
In the railways clash and clang,
And I worked my way to the end, and I
Was the head of the ‘Flying Gang’.

‘Twas a chosen band that was kept at hand
In case of an urgent need;
Was it south or north, we were started forth
And away at our utmost speed.
If word reached town that a bridge was down,
The imperious summons rang —
“Come out with the pilot engine sharp,
And away with the flying gang.”

Then a piercing scream and a rush of steam
As the engine moved ahead;
With measured beat by the slum and street
Of the busy town we fled,
By the uplands bright and the homesteads white,
With the rush of the western gale —
And the pilot swayed with the pace we made
As she rocked on the ringing rail.

And the country children clapped their hands
As the engine’s echoes rang,
But their elders said: “There is work ahead
When they send for the flying gang.”

Then across the miles of the saltbush plain
That gleamed with the morning dew,
Where the grasses waved like the ripening grain
The pilot engine flew —
A fiery rush in the open bush
Where the grade marks seemed to fly,
And the order sped on the wires ahead,
The pilot must go by.

The Governor’s special must stand aside,
And the fast express go hang;
Let your orders be that the line is free
For the boys in the flying gang.

By Andrew Barton Patterson (1864-1941)

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RUSH & HURRY

All the world

can get so caught up

with such rush & hurry.

.

Forgetting that moments lost

cannot be reclaimed.

.

I too have fallen victim to this crime, 

wondering what has happened 

to the past 20 years, since your were only four.

.

In haste, as the time flew,

we got lost in the pace of the everyday grind.

.

Now as the reality has hit home, 

we must make the time to stop and smell,

the so called roses,

along the rest of the journey!

.

© debradml (2015)

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