The years first snowflake
Lands on the face of a boy,
Not quite yet a man,
Who's yet to figure out where he stands

His brown irises scan the background
For a sign of what he's lost
Looking past his breath, into the frost,
He expects to find something, anything,
Profound

His hands curl in his pockets,
Fingers numb with cold
Spinning a heart shaped locket,
Feelings the memories, etched in gold
A place inside for a photograph
Of a lover or mother or brother,
He has none of these anymore,
Won't let remembrance and mourning
Pull him under,
He continues on his path