Eastleigh

Eastleigh’s quiet streets recall the day
When steam hissed from the platform, coal‑black smoke
Curling above the lines where journeys sway
Between the countryside and London’s folk.

The town’s heart beats beneath the railway’s hum,
A tapestry of terraced homes and green,
Where children chase the ball on summer’s drum
And neighbours share a cuppa, warm and keen.

Old churches stand with stone‑capped steeples tall,
Their bells recall a time of simpler cheer,
While market stalls bustle with apples, pies, and all
The scents of home that drift throughout the year.

From the railway bridge to the river’s gentle glide,
Eastleigh wears its modest pride with grace—
A place where past and present softly bide,
And every corner holds a familiar face.