the greying window

I am looking out the greying window of coach G as the train pulls up slowly to Manningtree, a place you go for Dedeham Vale.
Behind the greying window, fields pass by,
In some of the fields are sheep,
Some of them newborn lambs.
Behind these initial fields are more fields they are on a slight hill,
Beyond this, I do not know,
From my position I cannot see beyond the hills,
Except for the unfathomably large sky of blue and cloud that reaches out from behind the hill and stretches all the way over my head.
If there is anything beyond that hill,
I hope that it is something beautiful,
If there is nothing beyond that hill,
Do I care?
As the train moves on sweet little lakes and parks begin to be replaced by pretty little allotments, replaced then by ugly grey and brown buildings made yet darker and more drab by the greying window through which I peer.
Then my view is obscured by a large tower of bushes and trees, then a tunnel,
From the darkness comes Ipswich,
I feel fairly pleased that this is not my stop,
Although I imagine Ipswich is actually better than it looks through this greying window.