Red jagged rocks are mirrored by a calming lake,
A boy stands there, restless, shrouded in a woolly jumper,
Above his head brooding clouds echo his unsettled mood,
They roll and roar across the sky, no purpose, no restraint,
Then, a moment of clarity—peace to the madness,
It flickers,
Then it falls,
Let it fall,
A perfect pure snow flake,
Winter’s first,
Swirling, curling….buffeted by cruel winds,
The boy now subdued, enchanted by this concertina of beauty,
In the scene’s ephemeral light he sees his desires,
This charming flake will quell his smouldering fires.
Now a drink fuelled room of pent-up angst and dumb excess,
The boy in the jumper observes a hedonistic scene,
Red eyes gleam, full of passion and lust,
But in this room full of people; just one caught his sight,
A brown curled beauty of the cold New Zealand night,
The boy, subdued now, in her eyes glimpses something,
Her brimming brown orbs flicker,
He falls,
Let him fall,
Deep within he sees his reflection,
A boy in a woolly jumper looks back,
In HER eyes he sees it again,
Snow’s first flake, pure and right,
He is content.