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