A Travel Poem on the Ooty Toy Train :Day One

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Beneath the veil of morning mist,
The engine hums, the hills are kissed.
A whistle cuts the waking air,
Adventure stirs — the world feels rare.

From Mettupalayam, slow we climb,
Past dancing leaves and woods of time.
The jungle hums a lullaby,
While silver rivers ripple by.

Through tunnels dark and bridges wide,
Where waterfalls in silence glide.
Tea gardens stretch like woven seas,
In emerald folds and perfumed breeze.

At Coonoor, steam gives way to steel,
But magic clings to every wheel.
The diesel hums, the ridges bend,
Yet beauty flows around each bend.

The sky turns gold on rolling land,
Where women pluck with gentle hands.
Bright saris bloom on verdant waves,
As mountain winds flow through the caves.

Small villages with crimson tiles,
Wave down the train with hopeful smiles.
A monkey leaps, a peacock calls,
And wildflowers bloom near stone walls.

At last, the tracks to Ooty wind,
Where clouds and trees and dreams entwine.
The hills exhale a peaceful song,
A ride through time, both short and long.

So ride the rails where legends sleep,
Through fog and forest, lush and deep.
The Nilgiris will hold you tight—
A fairy tale in morning light.

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