Together we went off into the mountains
An ebon pillar of tradition seemed he,
in his garb of old fashioned fabric
aloft between the wide brim of his silk hat and
the white extent of his shirt front.
Same a whistle from a distance
under a flight of smoke.
Into the station, it came with blustering with
cloud and clanger. The door
flew open and from it, a white
traveling dress walked down
to the platform. and disappeared
into the morning fog.
I regret not to have stayed longer