Waters

The shoreline hemmed with apple trees,

Wound past an island green,
A low, blue line of mountain shown,
The open lake between.
No clue of memory led me on,
But well the ways I knew.
A feeling of familiar things,
With every footstep grew.
A presence, strange at first, but known,
Walked with me as a guide,
The skirts of some forgotten life,
Trailed noiselessly by my side.
Was it a dim – remembered dream?
Or glimpses through eons old?
The secrets that the mountain kept…
The waters never told.