Keepsake

You said they were brook trout

Those fairy blades of sun and moonlight

You so gravely lifted out

One by one from your basket on the grass.

And I held up two handfuls

Of pink and green and white

For everyone to see,

And called the colors by a name,

Wood-anemone.

But of all those little dreams in cups

Left brimming over on the moss,

And of that big, breathless one

We leaned across

The fallen willow to give back again

To deep and shoal

We never said a word,

We never told a soul!

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