On A Train

The book I’ve been reading

rests on my knee. You sleep.

It’s beautiful out there—

fields, little lakes and winter trees

in February sunlight,

every car park a shining mosaic.

Long radiant minutes,

your hand in my hand,

still warm, still warm.

This poem appeared in If I Don’t Know by Wendy Cope, published by Faber and Faber, 2001. Shared here with deep gratitude.

10.09.2026

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