Infant Winter

Inside an inside outside conker shell,
You like to touch and each one pains me.
Silken soft, smooth at your fingertips;
Protective spears turn inwards.
Here I am, diamond small and without nets.
My world has turned.

Damage done and waiting to mature
I will break my silent casing.
Laying out amongst the new adults,
Glistening in the autumn grass.
Your champion string will not hold me,
I know the knocks.

The others shine not so brightly now,
Their naïveté is old,
You search for fresh prey.
Tiny seeds mutate before they see the sun.
Magpie eyed, you search again.
Sparkling youth, strangers are closer than you think.

At last the spears wear blunt,
My mind sharpens and becomes my own.
Children's autumn analogy is my cold reality
And infant winter is mine.