BlogMas 2016 Day Seven - Nine & Three Quarters

Hello. It's Day Seven.

People after people, bogie after bogie,

I sit on the punctured steel bench, far from being reminiscent,

Of the hefty and rooted stone parenting the dusky oak ledge,

Always smelling of musk, it veritably was crafted,

Keeping in mind humans as humans, and not luggage,

I somehow settle my derrière, which is also quite disapproving,

 On the gruesome bench,

There are now wires, and with each added filament,

Would be fracturing of a roof so mile-high, fit which it would 

All the male ego you would see, floating heavily

Along with the dark vapour of the coal,

And the smell of the smoke, glamorise which it would,

The idea of the handsome smile you wish,

You could descry across the platform,

I see them daub inch by inch further away, 

Wanting more expanse, while gobbling more turf,

"We'll make them grand", they said, "They'll look modern", they said,

And amidst all their gloat bubbles in the air, stiffen which it would,

My facility to breathe securely,

There was no more the coal vapour, or sniffling the hints of smoke,

To gauge how far your wagon still is,

I see them build step after step around the entrance,

Public needs facility, they said,

 I see the entrance to platform encroached by each passing week,

In the thick of humans trying to disentangle the chaos,

They conjured predominantly, because how normal is their world,

I smell the coal burning afar again, like it returned to mock me of its perpetual departure,

 Like to bid an old friend adieu, sinking my heart which it would,

I see a lily grow out of the wall I'd been gaping at unbelievingly, while despairing,

The wall lifted, and I could see and smell the musky bright light shine through,

And it seemed, Nine & Three Quarter had a new entry.

I miss my Potter books. Until then.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

Ak.