I watched him as he passed,
the boy
emerging out of the winter view,
and wondering what passed
beneath that childish, hurting frown,
remembered a winter's life ago
when I, ungrown,
in untested, youthful guise,
wondered, lonely and alone,
under dreary, winter skys.

In water washed, water colour landscapes
I roamed, solitary,
through the cooling, dreaming vistas.
Wondering the forsaken pathways,
the empty, gleaming fields,
the sodden, abandoned bush tracks
where heavy, winter gums towered,
dark, oppressive, reaching
into rumpled, unmade bed skys,
and storm gulls wheeled, voiceless
against the season's gloom.

Dreams shivered, as fragile then
as the gleaming water gems
that crept along the stiffened
arthritic limbs of budless apple
and cheerless, naked grape.
Hope horizon flown, beyond
fog bound winter scapes,
to a dreamspun, summerland home.
without even a postcard
to those abandoned behind,
left to wonder the
frigid, dreamless tracks,
down endless, puddled
winter lanes.....and back.

Somewhere, secure,
the future lay, wrapped
like spring buds
in tight, velvet clasps.
Distant voices or music
visited through a fog,
faraway, unseen.
Inexorable, unknowable
as an undreamt dream.


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