Under the embankment, in the unmown ditch, She lies and looks as if alive, In a colored scarf thrown over her braids, Beautiful and young. It used to be that she walked with a sedate gait towards the noise and whistle behind the nearby forest. Walking all the way around the long platform, she waited, worried, under the canopy. Three bright eyes rushing in - A gentler blush, a cooler curl: Perhaps one of the passers-by will look more closely from the windows...