NeuroDivine

For months I’ve reached the platform well
Before the train draws near;
Ten minutes early, every day,
A quiet, steady year.

But this one morning, thinking sure
I’d make it just in time,
I let that margin slip away—
A single, harmless crime.

Yet frost lay sharp along the rails,
The timetable turned sly;
It came a minute swift and strange,
And left before my eye.

I heard it cross the canal bridge,
Its hollow echo thrown
Across the dark, still winter water
That left me standing lone.

Then off it swept toward the Barrow,
Where river currents glide;
I watched it curve through field and rush
And vanish down the side. 

So here I wait an hour behind
In draughts that cut and sting;
No waiting room, just wind and cold
And crows that lift and wing.

Yet in this rural quietness,
With breath turned pale and thin,
I stand—a little cross, but firm—
And let the day begin.

For missing trains is human work,
And fate may twist the way;
But still there’s stubborn grace in waiting
As the Barrow carries day.

Copyright 2026.