A young man stood on Swanston Street,
With hopeful eyes and restless feet.
Magazines clutched in quiet plea,
A voice half-raised to beckon me.
I met his glance, then looked away,
A silent truth too sharp to say.
He saw it then—no words were said,
Just something gentle in the head.
A flicker passed across his face,
Not anger, just a touch of grace.
The kind that knows the world is wide,
And strangers often must decide.
The crowd flowed on, the trams rolled past,
Yet in that moment, time held fast.
A story paused, then moved once more—
A quiet echo from the core.
Sony A7RV
FE 50mm f1.2 GM
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