The cold facts are these:
It was built for coal, for iron,
from Tynycaeau Junction, North East
through Rhydlafer to the Garth Mountain,
for the dolomite quarry,
through Pentyrch Cutting and
Walnut Tree Tunnel,
jutting high brick viaduct
across the Taff to Penrhos,
for ships at Tiger Bay and Barry Dock,
for coal, for steam, for iron,
for smoke, for rock,
for money.
 
It is a stretch of muscle,
navvy strength in broken boots,
for heat, for food, for want,
effort in spades, slab sided
and cold cast, rivet and rail,
ballast and sleeper,
for piston, for steel, for shovel,
for the clatter of metal
and the steam whistle’s wail.
 
But now the nettles blow
in this beautiful decay,
sapling growth and brambles slow our way.
For us, for tomorrow,
silence breeds in great puddles
in the trees’ shade.
In this short pause in eternity
we walk the exposed belly,
follow its grain to the end,
and back again to the tunnel mouth,
muzzled with moss.
For dark, for light, for life, for loss,
we see only to the bend clotted with weeds,
but hear the insects drone, thick as resin,
and the sudden rattle of a woodpecker
hollowing a nest.