Last Train from St.Pancras
In the damp and warmth of the empty train,
While rhythm and rhyme of the railway track
Pass in rubato with the tumbling rain.
Familiar stations passing stop-start by;
You rummage a half-bottle from your bag,
And with a smile offer some pinot noir,
But pause, like raindrops on a window pane.
You speak a hidden truth we seldom hear,
“I only drink to feel like I belong,
To be the girl my friends expect,”
Gently, I decline and quietly listen.
I watch your tears run and gild your skin,
And hope you'll find the strength you need within.
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