Sticks And Stones Poem by Tim Johnson

I skipped a stone across the water
Into the setting sun
Watched interlocking ripples
Each and every one

Skitter, skitter, skitter
Went that fated orb
Dancing oh so lively
Toward the yonder shore

Chosen for its smoothness
It traveled straight and low
One moment proud above the lake
The next submerged below

I tossed a stick a little later
As night began to fall
I couldn’t see the ripples
The darkness took them all

Whoosh, and whirl, and splash
Into the drink it went
I like to think it landed
Where the rock was sent

I have no doubt it floated
For it was light and dry
A marker for the stone
In juxtaposed demise

I contemplate their meaning
Their ripples soak my bones
Soaring, skipping, floating, drowning
I dream of sticks and stones