You sit there in the corner,
with your calm eyes and stubble,
speeding between these green mounds
crested with pines.

You read your book.
The smooth brown of your eyes
contradicts this rugged setting,
and is complimented more by
the buttermilk sky than the hills
as we cleave this land in two.

You've made this journey
too many times, and it shows,
I'd try and make a difference,
but I am just a stranger on a train.