Eden

The beck ran cool and clear
Over a bed of polished pebbles.
And I crouched on the bank,
Listening to the sheep chatter
In their idleness.

You stood barefoot in the water,
Your denim jeans rolled to your knees.
Your keen eyes selected
the perfect specimen.
Rounded. Flat. Smooth.
Then you skimmed it across the river
And it scampered across
The surface of the water
Like a dog let loose from its leash.

You always turned to me,
Grinning with your boyish ways,
Wanting recognition for this
Achievement.

In the fields we lay like eagles
And you held me amongst
The grassy seas
Below cloudless skies.

We were young. We were wild. We were free.

Then the northern winds tormented
The grieving willows and ruffled
The feathers of your sandy hair.

I stand alone.
The water cooling my feet as they
Grip the pebbles.
And your ghost stares up at me
Through a screen of rippled water.

As your perfect pebble sinks to the river bed.
So it looks no different to the others around it.