Seabreeze Train Of Yore

The train whistle's blowing, steaming through Bray,
Heading down to Arklow town, some thirty miles away.
Engineer in his cab looking straight ahead,
Passengers in their seats viewing Bray Head.
Now through a dark tunnel the train is on-going,
Ever onwards towards Greystones it's chugging along.
The sea is close, as the train travels alongside the beach,
It journeys onwards to Wicklow town, just within reach,
Looking far out to the sea, depending on the day,
You could be treated to a yachting regatta, sailing under way.
Highballing now to Rathdrum the train does run,
Into another dark tunnel, a few minutes with no sun.
Rolling on to Avoca Vale the train does shuffle,
Over the trestle and into the valley it does hustle.
Traversing the green vale with its scenery so grand,
Into the village, and on to Woodenbridge, a beautiful land.
Cruising past Shelton, it's downhill to Arklow town,
Nearing the journey's end, the train does slow down,
Coasting into Arklow station and then to a halt.
People get off and flock to the streets with haste,
Spending time at the shops or beach with no time to waste.
City folk out in the country for them a brief retreat,
In a few hours it’s back home, broke, exhausted, and dead beat.