Rocks lying, looking pretty.
Sometimes getting picked up and skipped across water.
Tumbling down over each other - off a mountain, landing in a heap.
Along every natural path a rock will find it's way into a little child's pocket, looked at on another day and put down somewere else.
Pockets transporting rocks to all corners of the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem