deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Stranger At The Train Station
The woman with silver hair wore a cream cardigan and sunglasses.
Pushing a small suitcase along the ground, she approached the ticket office.
Dawn thought there was something familiar about the woman, but she couldn’t identify what.
The voice.
West Country.
The accent reminded her of wild flowers and of an afternoon in a garden many years ago.
An untidy garden in Devon with autumn leaves and a pond and clumps of damp earth.
Pushing a small suitcase along the ground, she approached the ticket office.
Dawn thought there was something familiar about the woman, but she couldn’t identify what.
The voice.
West Country.
The accent reminded her of wild flowers and of an afternoon in a garden many years ago.
An untidy garden in Devon with autumn leaves and a pond and clumps of damp earth.
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