On the slow train, following the river,
there’s time to ponder why I’ve sought to go
up to the north, towards the shining snow,
where I have nothing to get nor deliver
and no hope of welcome makes me shiver
expecting angry faces, and a shout of “no,
you are not wanted, leave here, fast or slow,
you are a taker, in no way a giver.”
Then, cursed and fearful, I must then depart
unhappy, unforgiven, lacking any choice
since I can neither answer nor explain
but stand there mute knowing I cannot start
any excuse, nor speak with honest voice,
so silently I climb back on the train.
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