Denmark, 1963 a poem by me, Wendy Bartlett

Denmark 1963

A quite simple matter
At twenty or so
A train ride to Denmark
Just backpack and go
From there on the ferry
To Tom’s Oslo town
I wasn’t afraid
Of the people around
The train in the station
Breathed one last sigh
The giant clock signaled
It was midnight, goodnight
The morning train slumbered
While I stood alone
The giant train station
Would now be my home
My eyelids they fluttered
My mouth made a yawn
The men in there shuddered
Nobody was warm
My knees wobbled slightly
The quietness came
Six hours to kill
Outside there was rain
My backpack was heavy
Put it down on the floor
Then lowered my body
Could not stand anymore
Sleep entered my body
Could not hold it back
I dreamed of my train
Asleep on its track
Six hours I huddled
And kept out the cold
Not one person touched me
Or talked to me, bold
So in Denmark a woman
Is left on her own
It isn’t an invite
If she crashes alone
It was freedom to be there
A new taste to me
A glorious feeling
Of how one can be free