Near the Eastern gate, beside a slow stream
sheltered by a tumbledown fence
long, dry grass has been trampled flat.
A girl in a straw coloured dress to match
her hair and blue eyes, smiling sunshine
throws up a red ball and catches
“Otters did this,” I say and a breath snatches
her budding lips.
“Why?” she says.
“Play,” I say.
She spreads the sprung grass
and nestles the ball between us.
“Play,” she says.