Paul Simon wrote of sitting at a railway station,
With a ticket for his destination,
A cool autumn morn, and I’m doing the same,
Penning my thoughts, while awaiting my train.

A nice warm coffee cupped in my hand,
My trusty pen, the poet’s wand,
More travellers arrive, their tickets purchase,
While I just sit, composing verses.

My I-Pod blasts out Thin Lizzy live,
The music helps my poem thrive,
People staring, I'm deep in thought,
Me thinks this poem won’t be short.

The train arrives, of course its late,
So much to do, I cannot wait,
We pass through villages, towns and fields,
The lonely scarecrow, no secrets he yields.

The stunning views sure do amaze,
As we journey on through drizzly haze,
The farmer’s fields and their misty shroud,
As I travel further from maddening crowd.

Through the cloud comes a shaft of light,
Then forms a rainbow, bold and bright,
You see the world with a different view,
Or perhaps not, as we pass through Crewe.

Great, sods law, one working loo,
And yes of course, there’s quite a queue,
I-Pod still belting out the tunes,
As along the track, the train it zooms.

Ahh, now my destination is in sight,
Now a cracking day and drunken night,
A time to catch up with good friends,
And where both Journey, and poem ends.*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2013