The train slid past the tulip fields
Endless, bright and pretty.
An old man smiled as he looked out
Returning to his city.
A young man sat across from him
His suitcase by his knee
For all he owned was packed inside
And there his home would be.
They spoke awhile of roads and cars
Of journeys long and gritty
The young man said, "Can you tell me
What folk live in your city?"
The old man stroked his silver beard
His features marked by grace
"First, tell me just what sort of folk
Lived in your former place?"
The young man frowned and shook his head
His eyes cast firmly down
"They lied, they stole, they spread foul tales
A shame upon the town."
The old man gazed beyond the fields
His eyes held quiet pity
"I fear you'll find far worse than that
Among those in my city."
The young man sighed and crossed his arms
A shadow on his face
And wondered why he'd left his home
To find a crueller place.
The train then stopped. A glimpse of streets,
And gardens neat and pretty
A second young man climbed aboard
Bound for the old man’s city.
Before too long he asked the same
As lights came into view
"What are the people like who live
Where we are going to?"
Again the old man gently asked
A calm look on his face:
"First, tell me just what sort of folk
Lived in your former place?"
The traveller smiled at memories
Still warm within his breast
"They helped their friends, they shared their bread
And welcomed every guest.
The old looked after all the young
The poor found aid when needy
Their doors stood open, hearts stood wide
And neighbours were not greedy."
The old man's face grew bright with joy;
He spoke with measured pace:
"Then you'll find even kinder souls
Who live in your new place."
The first young man sat back, perplexed,
To ponder what he’d heard.
How could the same place hold both kinds?
It almost seemed absurd.
The train pulled in. Soon they were on
A station clean and pretty
And each man found exactly what
He’d carried to the city.