Poem: To The Next Station

Will we make it over that stretch?
Take each day as it comes,
one day over is a day less,
a stepping stone towards payday,
like a heavy steam engine,
puffing and chuffing over a rickety old wooden viaduct,
wheel turn by wheel turn, the bridge begins to creak,
will we make it across safely?
Or will we plunge to our deaths?
On the sharp rocks that’s down blow,
what choice do we have?
I keep my hand upon the throttle
and my eyes upon the rails,
I’m not a gambling man,
I’m willing to throw the dice,
and steam onwards with great care,
towards the other side,
where life seems to look brighter,
where money is waiting at the next station.