At play in Spay.
I have this memory of her face.
Distorted, through a jet of fine spray.
Water swirling from a garden sprinkler,
We run brave before the torrent in childs play.
I fell in love with wet curls and a laugh.
Smile fractured through the prism of fine spray.
As she dashes before the raining cascade
An exotic summer migrant come to stay,
Naked feet, running on wet slippy grass.
Terror of first contact, on her soft tanned skin
And then the sting of dashing, bracing cold,
She stands screaming, her face split with a manic grin
Autumn took her back to the city,
And me to school, away from that summers play.
To sit and daydream of wet curls and a smile,
And her laughter, as we dance at play in spray
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com