I hold in my hand a stone,
That has never been held.
Among a million
I singled it out
Why?
Normally I look for stones
With impossible holes,
Or hope for Amber that has been rejected by the sea.
But I am holding an ordinary pebble,
Flat and grey.
I turn it over in my hand
Its cool weight fills my palm,
As my fingers curl to embrace it
I put it in my pocket.
When it is warm, and I have travelled the beach a little,
I skip it back ten thousand years
Into the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Aha, I like this one, too. I recall a Charlie Brown cartoon where Linus points this out to CB and makes him feel guilty. Good grief. Great poem. -chuck