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Sport 40: 2012

Last Train

page 171

Last Train

A man came slowly towards me,
hat over his forehead,
hand shading his eyes,
an off-duty poet.
On his T-shirt the words:
I speak the language of Paradise.
He walked right through me
and took the last train,
the one meant for me.
No idea, what would have
become of me. Of the truth
we know only the lousy gist.