The grassy hills near queen Elizabeth park
reminded me of freedom through the racing wind
The floating columns of sand flying on it
I could see the old tram parked up inactive
Memories came back clicking blows from the past
How the tram used to move and inspire children's shrieks
It's horn blowing the scrape it made upon the rails
down toward the end sea and back again toward the hills
repeating it's back and forth all day
Like a ritual that accomplished some rite
even when it was often quite empty
and the skies were overcast
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