Thoughts of Russia (Feb 1986)
Do the endless white snowfields
You pass on the speeding train
-your head occasionally bumping glass
Seem to you like the vast expenses,
The covered frozen, grassy tundra
Of some Siberia?
Is the hoot of the solid diesel engine
Transformed in your mind
To the sharp, shrill steam-whistle
Of a thundering boilered beauty?
With White flags bearing eagles
Strapped to its face
Whilst on the skyline,
The thin parade of trees
Are really black saddled riders
Red Flags tattered and fluttering harshly
Amidst the broody, snow hung sky.
Will the machine guns bark out soon
Before the Moon clouds
The inevitable conflict?