Whilst on an Alpine train we found a poem hidden between two seats
The paper was damp and the ink had run but we were able to read the contents
Antonia and I were skating along an Alpine road
Which was covered in thick brushed ice
Beneath the surface
We could see orange flowers
Asleep
They were waiting for the breezes of Spring
To release them from their captivity
That was all that was written on the scrap of paper
So I opened a window and threw the poem into the snowy wastes
We knew that the season would crush the meagre words within hours
But they would always be recorded in our memories of our journey