Darker poem written during my teenage angst.
|Darkened by clouds on a storm threatening day,
The streets are empty.
Not a child is in Hyde Park.
Even the lonely gentlemen have gathered and fled.
So he sits alone in this desolate place
Waiting for the last train.
He was the last to go.
Marked by the soldier he killed,
He leaves on the last train.
Skirt tails are flying,
The child covered with care
As she waits for her lover,
On the last train coming in.