Rosedale Revisited

Here is the stone we sat on,
our feet pressed into springy turf,
close cropped,
by deer and rabbits,

The stream still chatters
as it splashes into rocky pools
where tiny,
dappled fish swim.

Do you remember
the sun-kissed faces, the touch
of wet hands and feet, fresh from
the cold flowing stream?

Ghosts, of children now
grown up and gone away,
sometimes linger in places like this,
echoing their play

Stay for a moment!
Where else does cool water
throw up a sprinkled spray
to make rainbows.