Mark Heathcote

Veteran Poet - 3,032 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Rounded


To make a pebble rounded
It has to be crushed
Pounded and carved
There is nothing tender
About it, it must be
Tipped on its head
Up-ended out of bed
Turned in every which-way
It doesn't want to go...
Some may think it cruelty,
But others shall behold it?
Behold its beauty, logically
Knowing it’s as rounded-
As anything - and possibly
It will roll with all the punches
Of this world until the next
Their return to the sediment
The bedrock of home!

Submitted: Thursday, June 20, 2013
Edited: Saturday, June 22, 2013

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