There's a girl sitting opposite, with paper held proud.
We sit in our seats, without a word said aloud.
We look, we think, and wonder a while.
Perhaps if I'm brave, I might give a smile.

It's because we are British, with upper lip firm.
We can't let our shield down, or speak out of turn.
As a child we would play, but now that we're trained,
All our feelings, our thoughts, must be contained.

We assess their character, their clothes, their hair.
And then turn away as if they're not there.
If you do read a paper, or study a book,
Then over your shoulder, they'll be having a look.

Looking around me, all the faces seem glum.
Not surprising, with silence, the brain starts to numb.
The girl turns the page, and I might catch her eyes.
But returns to her paper - well no big surprise.

Then she opens a novel by an author quite fine.
I develop my thoughts, turning the pages of mine.
With her hand in her hair and her boots on the floor,
I notice the ring now, and study her no more.