Are these sleepy little villages and hamlets really tucked into bed by eleven?
When my train rolls by and there is nothing on display to my bleary eye
except vacant roads, dark shadows, and the dim glow of night-lights.
Cars are still; people are absent; time is frozen but for the wind-blown hedges.
But do these villages go to sleep, or do they just turn off the lights
and do those things which should not be subjected to the light?
Tags: Hamlets, poem, poetry, Train, travel, Villages
By B Gourley in poem, Poetry, travel, Writing on March 17, 2013.
