I know they must have been
large round river stones
that she put in her pockets
and that she waded
rather than dived
into the water
and each step she took
was into a different
part
of the river
and even if she had stood still
the river would have always
been different
just as the river
of time
always flows
around us
and in us
and is never the same
no matter
how many stones
we put
in our pockets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem