Was it a fragrant sunny day

when fingers plucked living grasses?

Digging deep in the waters edge

for groundings of strong, rampant reeds.

What skilled hands were responsible

for laying these precious fruits to dry.

Now nimbly woven, carefully crafted

they hold another’s treasure-trove.

A diary - feeding childhood dreams -

or a sweater - comfort soft -

silver slippers for dancing feet?

A scarf perhaps - tangerine and indigo,

lightly perfumed from a moment lost;

teasled edges wrought by fretful fingers.

Does this cache of woven reeds now

hold a secret as powerful as its founding

upon that distant sunny day?

Or is it just a basket - full of youthful fancy

freely giving of its trove away?