The train came to a halt among moss and boughs;
no station, no cross, and no sign there.
They walked downhill and stormed inside the train,
the scent of some strange flowers in their wake.

Was it the altitude that drummed on our ear drums,
or perhaps the rails that rang — we couldn’t tell.
The green surged and shimmered, fresh with raindrops
and all of us woke to its sudden spell.

While some of us got off to have a smoke,
or just to stretch our stiff legs there,
they rushed to where the platform ended,
and in big gulps, drank blue mountain air.

They got off the train at some gray town
and hurried off, dissolved in trivial cares.
We still remember them — sunlit, serene.
We still envy them and stare.