They ran too late; the train pulled free,
A shrug, a sigh—what will be, will be.
But fate, that rogue with a playful grin,
Let two lost glances draw them in.

A smile rose like morning light,
He said, “Coffee then?”—not quite polite.
She laughed, “Why not?”—and so began
A tale unwritten, yet surely planned.

Steam curled from cups, warm hands drew near,
An hour passed; the world unclear.
But words flowed softly, like a bending river,
Two strangers found a bond to treasure.

Same train, same track, same destination,
Three hours more of conversation.
Stories shared, and laughter spun,
As if the journey had just begun.

Arrival came; the moment split,
A gentle kiss, no need to quit.
Numbers passed with trembling grace,
Hope tucked inside a folded space.

Perhaps the train they missed was fate,
A pause, a chance to recalibrate.
For sometimes love, not loud or grand,
Begins with coffee and an open hand.

Paul Baldry

This poem is based on something that really happened to me when I was just 17 years old. Missing a train led to an unexpected meeting with a young woman, and we spent hours talking as if we’d known each other forever. We exchanged numbers and said goodbye with hope, but life had other plans. We never met again, leaving behind a memory that has stayed with me ever since.

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LongJohn