All hitched up, full head of steam.
Water tanks filled, looking a dream
Whistle blows, signal is clear,
Whoosh of smoke, raising a tear
Driving wheels turn, couplings crack
Time for the journey, to Brighton and back
Across open fields, trees racing past
Under stone bridges, she travels so fast
Stoking the furnace, coals burning red
Adjusting the throttle, onward she sped
Over the hill, journey's end due
Round the bend, the stations in view
Brakes applied, holding steady
Grinds to a halt, buffers ready
Onlookers cheer, she's one of a kind
The Brighton Belle, with the tender behind
Nice easy read and I rather like the last line
Fun poem - terrible pun! 😉