A Crying Lady

A Crying Lady Not too long ago, on the train, I saw a lady. Young, slim, intelligent eyes Nice face. Oh, very likable. Light brown back-tied hair. Lovely. She cried She sat shyly. She was alone. She waved her beautiful legs in front of me I sat on the side seat. She was sitting in the back of the direction of travel Perpendicularly to me She was alone. Very young lady. Magnetic. She was sad. Sad. I think she was a Polish woman. Maybe Ukrainian. Hmm. She was Polish She watched me. Like a sister. Her gaze asked for friendship. Polish and Hungarian are friends What happened with her? Or just? Yes, this is the answer She experienced imaginary romantic moments This lady was so young. Around twenty-five I marvelled at her beautiful lines and her kind, pretty face I read my book, but sometimes I took a look at her. Magical phenomenon “The next station is Baker Street!” Said the speakers. My book is closed. I stood up and looked at the lady “Goodbye. All the best.” I said goodbye to her in a friendly way She looked up at me. She cried. She said in a velvety voice, “Goodbye”. Train stopped Then I got out This woman was crying Spring was the reason Spring Young love Illusion Let’s go To work