Red and white gingham quivers in the twilight
breeze as two tired legs mosey beside surly steel.
We are surrounded by this rosy sky
and those noble rolling green hills.
This valley is a paradise to me,
but to you – a provincial prison.
You shiver – even though we are now shrouded
under ginger hued mantles – because you
accidentally abandoned your shawl on that wobbly
peg in your haste to catch the 6 o’clock train.
It’s not coming, is it?