A day trip with my best friend prompted this poem in 2000, when we went to the

Today we went to Thursford, my best friend, Olg, and I.
We drove in Esmeralda, and watched the scenes go by.
Pride of their collection, an awesome sight we saw,
from the moment that we opened the exhibition door
Gaily painted, golden gilded, she beckoned to us all,
and like moths to a flame, we were held in her enthral.
Then began melodic harmony as her pipes began their play
filling hearts with nostalgia, on that beautfiul hot May day.
We paid for our tickets and scrambled to a seat,
actually getting on it turned out to be a feat -
it may be that our bones are old.
Or was that step too steep?
It took awhile for me, more of a scramble than a leap.
Once full, the magic started, as the cars began to climb
up the hill and down again,
something from a long gone time.
Listening to the music playing gaily as we rolled
took my thoughts to another time, in the days of old,
and I thought of all the people who, in that seat, had sat.
It made me feel quite humble to look at it like that.
All too soon the ride was over, we must vacate the chair,
as I struggled to descend I seemed to hover in the air.
It made me quite in awe of all those ladies long ago -
how they managed, wearing bustles ,
is something I’ll never know.
It was a beautiful May day, when my friend Olg and I,
stepped out of this high-tech century
and into days gone by