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