WINTER RUSH HOUR

They stand upon the platform
Bleak weather (bleaker faces),
Bodies in the rush hour
Minds on warmer places.
They face the morning ritual
The same old dull routine,
Of all the faces present
None of them looks keen.

Cold wind blows through the station
The cold commuters shiver,
Cold voice comes on the tannoy
Bad tidings to deliver.
It says that it is sorry
That all trains are delayed,
The passengers are sorry too
And wish in bed they'd stayed.
Some of them feel angry
They mutter and they curse,
While some of them, with bold resolve,
Just think "It could be worse".

Finally the train arrives
They battle for a seat,
Some of them just have to stand
On restless, fretfulfeet.
At last they reach the office
They're ninty minutes late,
Just hoping that the boss's train
Enjoyed a similar fate.
On reaching home this evening
They'll moan about the train,
I bet you in the morning
They go through it all again.