Studies At the Station
I sometimes sit
At the train station
And watch the people
Go by. They sweep past
Hurriedly, filling the quiet
Of my thoughts
With bustling energy.
Then a little one’s head
Will turn, inquisitive
Eyes questing to know more about
This curious lady in
Her red felt hat,
And for that moment,
The swirling hordes pause
And the world takes
Notice. Before his mother pulls
Gently on his hand,
Before she admonishes him
Not to stare—
I meet his eyes with a
Smile, in vain effort
To tell him that
I understand. We are both
Students of the world.
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