Ashworth Valley

We find the trail that once we knew
So many years ago
But memory dimmed, I cannot make out
The track we used to go

Was it the high path up above?
Or the one beside the river?
It brings back thoughts that are so sweet
As I begin to shiver

For ghosts are here, I see them well
The girl guides and our leader
When tea around the campsite stove
Smelled sweet of wood and cedar

We walk beside the river bed
Until we have to cross
The stepping stones looked near enough
I did not see the moss

You went across without a hitch
As then I tried to follow
But slipped upon a mossy stone
And fell into a hollow

The river felt so cold and fast
I called out with the shock
But you were only laughing
As you stood upon a rock

And as I shouted louder still
So frightened for my life
You held your hand and reached for me
From my helplessness and strife

Then as I struggled, cold and wet
Up the hillside steep
I heard the hidden laughter
Of the ghosts that took a peep

As I discarded sodden clothes
And dressed in makeshift rage
I laughed to think of this affair
To someone of my age!

Brenda S. Warhurst

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© 2006 Brenda S. Warhurst