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!