I wonder if anyone could write a poem about being on a bus during winter, with everyone wearing winter clothes and thus being cramped in the seats, with the air pressure not super good, lights completely out, very little conversation or inspiration to converse. I love winter, but I definitely don't like being cooped up in a bus for more than an hour, say.
The only bright point was the driver, who was humming "Wide World," by Cat Stevens, although there might have been a more recent version.
Problem is that I hate flying, not because I am afraid, but because I hate airports and the latest security constrictions they have dreamed up.Trains are better, but they are wretchedly expensive now. (Except for local trains.)
Solution: Turn into a goose and fly. (A fat, strong, tasty goose who, hopefully, will live happily and lustily and be at home in the welkin.