If I could live upon a train,
avoiding all the landlord’s pain,
I’d be as happy as a lark
or some panhandler in the park.
I’d sit and watch the countryside
by my window sweetly glide.
And when the train would stop somewhere,
I’d quickly wash my underwear.
Conductors all would be my friend;
I’d make the engineers unbend.
I would love a train as casa —
but would they let me keep my Lhasa?
from a story in the Washington Post