Stones Poem by Steve Howard
Stones
Friday comes as Friday will,
like a slow stone rolled,
to the top of the hill.
The weekend comes,
like a feather in the wind,
which you run and chase,
with a childlike grin.
It seems but a moment,
but you realize then,
the stone rolled back,
and it's Monday again.
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4/29/2024 10:06:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
