Sitting on a train chair

Sitting on a train chair,
running back towards its home,
I look outside the window,
to the things that disappear.

In grey towns
and coloured cars,
people run
as the train I am on:
nowhere to go,
but a smile inside,
or maybe a grin
for the time that comes.

Heart-beat is getting fast,
whose are these thoughts?
They’re passing by,
but still they are
and only one can take them all.

Green trees,
and rocky slopes,
Nature’s got
my soul out there;
nobody is here
but the one I love,
a spurt of flowers
for the sun to warm.

Heart-beat is getting fast,
where are your eyes?
They’re smiling now,
and there they are,
waiting for this train to come.