trains rides assuring
all that’s alluring
travelling, touring
until they crash
then we awaken
battered and shaken
love has been taken
lost in the mash
hospital calling
though some are falling
and more are squalling
helpers draw near
relatives crying
while some are dying
there’s no denying
they’re feeling fear
helpers are working
no one is shirking
though this is irking
no one will stop
bodies recovered
some of them smothered
children unmothered
lying on top
wreckage now clearing
exhaustion nearing
while eyes are tearing
sighs on the mews
none are left waiting
anticipating
worry abating
by evening news
Author notes
This style is called Cyhydedd hir. It's a celtic form of poetry that I've extended so I could tell the story of the Kerang train crash and keep the form. The Cyhydedd hir is usually eight lines with a 5,5,5,4 syllable count and an a,a,a,b,c,c,c,b rhyming scheme. It's supposed to sound like drums in the hills. My friend Big Ed showed me how to do it although his was much more poetic than
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