The Half Blood.

This crown has been sitting in the train station, opposite the platform, for as long as I can remember.
How many trains go by every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year?
This cardboard crown has been withstood them all.
How is this possible?
I stand across from it every time I am waiting for a train and I regard it.
It regards me equally.
We nod.
I think about what this crown has seen in it's time in the station.
I wonder what it will see in the days, weeks, months and years to come?
Oh if only the crown could speak, the stories it would tell.