A little boy found a blue rock
in the street.
He showed it to his mother
who believed it to be very valuable,
perhaps a sapphire.
Why, it is the color
of the lake where your father
used to take us before he died—
the lake on a cloudless day.
She placed the stone in her
jewelbox to have examined later.
One day the little boy stole the sapphire,
walked down to the jetty
on the lake,
let out a piercing wail
and hurled the stone
as far as he could.
The echo from the splash
punctured the peace
as the jewel-like ripples
dispersed and then sank.
Very good, Sonny. The end brings closure to both his emotions. Danny
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sonny, a ten for this fine piece you have written here. The ending, neatly ties together, all the elements.