Analysis of The Embankment

Earth,
Sheared,
Shifted moons ago.
Man and tool with promise of pay;
The embankment was slowly cut away.
The long decades past, behind our back gardens,
And minor roads, and rusted fenced off old sidings.
Iron, and oxide as barbs, from networks long past.
The track still stretches, as a blue river, stained oil.
Calling out loud to the locals in town, now immune to the traction;
Yet holding close as guarded and private- the dens seasonally called home.
Warrens and sets neath trees and nests holding hunters, talon and stealth.
Unreachable brambles no human may forage of back way night rambles down there.
Yet spoiled with glinting, and reflective tin cans, and bottle tops cast to one side;
Ground held so tightly, by root and by mighty, concrete enforcements all the way down.
The only view given by chance and by distance, when dear papers permit the time spent;
When sitting on patched cotton, and staring at smudged glass, with due speed the train hurtles past.