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.