To Robert - age 13
No magic, teen-age boy, that matches this,
to trample through the snow in ignorant bliss.
To leave your print where none have stepped before
and move through silence pressing like a roar.
Your hood hangs free should you have need of shield
though you would rather feel the cold than yield.
Your reddened ears and tousled hair spell “young”
and do not show the man within begun
Whose energy and strength together bent
against the driving white the skies have sent.
In this one moment but one goal to gain;
to climb the hill, but to sled down again.