Friday, 6 February 2015


Freezing cold on the platform
A chill within the air
The winter winds are rustling through
But as the train pulls in I dare
To dream of a carriage nice and warm
A shelter from the world outside
As I begin on my commute
To work at the end of this ride

But as I embark it feels as if
I'm entering a giant fridge
There's no sign of heat anywhere
Not a bit, not even a smidge
And I sit there watching my hands turn blue
Feeling's gone, my fingers are numb
And strangely I'll wish for overcrowding
The collective warmth of yesterday's scrum

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