It stops only briefly. It is unusual in every sense. The tickets, for instance, are measured in proportion to the want. You get on hurriedly and look around at your fellow passengers. A timid 19-year-old is engaged in animated discussion with a veteran. You find a place and settle in. The train moves away and the stagnant moorings upon which your Muse lay fade quickly into the night.
The camaraderie within quarantines you from all your worries. The scenery you pass is what you want it to be. Some travel into verse, others set the metre, and still others become inscribed in epigraphs. You look around and see baggage neatly placed in assigned slots. Each piece illumines the gathering but stops short of overpowering the travellers.
This train is a poetry collective and the friends made here are for life. You can already sense that. The Muse takes you where you want to go. When you get off, you will have carved a whole new path. This is what you have always dreamt of.
All-a-bard The Quarantine Train!
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