The rocks are small and smooth to touch and take.
A beach, not for sand castles, but gazers.Ahead all gray and stoic lies the lake.
Who hides behind rippling iron waters
What ancient god wrapped in aquatic shawl
Showing themself only in the epic
Places of water stone and sky? Your call
Taunting, waiting ,ignored and tragic.
Three stones are now vanished from beach and gone
To sit on window sill and there to stay
Far from home at the feet of the Wild One
A reminder of gods so far away.
How does a piece of stone keep the soul fed
And how do souvenirs become sacred?
