Walking this field I remember
Days of another summer.
Oh that was long ago! I kept
Close to the heels of my father,
Matching his stride with half-steps
Until we came to a river.
He dipped his hand in the shallow:
Water ran over and under
Hair on a narrow wrist bone;
His image kept following after, -
Flashed with the sun in the ripple.
But when he stood up, that face
Was lost in a maze of water.


 =David Juda