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puffing williethe puffer train comes rolling through with steamy clouds neath sky of blue the hills above the purbecks downs the fields of green laid out like sacred gowns the puff and panting of its sacred theme its rushing gist of joyful scene its body rich in green and gold its whistle blows and its story old from swanage town to warehams lane neath bridges in the Wessex terrain the schoolkids flock to ride its flanks their wave goodbyes and loud loud chants onwards it goes through leafy glades over the hills creator made its call to fame its rolling blades its call to freedom forever saved Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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