Yep. Another poem.

Here's a poem for the England people who I know must be homesick for trains. Wendy Cope is a lovely British poet I just discovered; check out her stuff at poetryarchive.com.

On a Train

The book I've been reading

rests on my knee. You sleep. 

It's beautiful out there - 

fields, little lakes and winter trees

in February sunlight,

every car park a shining mosaic. 

Long, radiant minutes,

your hand in my hand, 

still warm, still warm.