Train

Flourishing fields I long to roam,

Historic spires and country homes.

Fresh water sprinting into spring,

Perched blackbirds nursing broken wings

As pylons sizzle, stutter, spark

Over taupe trenches spartan, stark.

A troupe of slumber-laden sheep,

And onward, these carriages creep,

No time to take in each pit-stop –

The towns, the roads, the farms, the crops.

The lone constant beyond this view:

The distant sun. The one. The you.