Heading Home.

Heading Home.

Heading home.

Nervous and Tired
we wait silently,
hoping to catch
the last late train
heading home.

Women old, and
stooped over from
the weight of their
ridiculously large bags,
gaze out at a
cloud ridden sky.

Pigeons roost over-head
staring down hungerily
waiting for the oppertunity
to swoop down upon
an unexpecting victem.

The bell-clock hanging
above the ancient brick chapel
chimes wearily as if
it also senses that the
end of the day
was drawing to a final close.

A sigh, gentle and soft
escapes pressed lips as
the waiting draws on
capturing the rest of us
in its claws of boredom.

The last beams of the sun
touch the horizon goodby
as the stars peekout
in amazement, night.

Another sigh, this
of relief as the
pearl gray chain
of smoke can be
seen chugging along
slowly making it's way
forwards.

Soon the fire will have
gone out, the house
made still for the night,
as we board the
last late train
heading home.