The Rock

Once on a day, as I was out walking,

I came upon a rock, and we commenced talking.

Dirty and rough, hardly worth taking,

Listened so well, kinship in the making.

Just a little girl and a little rock,

Time passing; tick-tock, tick-tock.

I carried the rock everywhere; silly it seems,

Fancy wrapped up in a rock with no wings.

The rock got wet when it rained and cold when it snowed.

The rock always stayed, despite how the wind blowed.

Days melted into years. Though I never gave it care,

the rock grew on me, shiny from constant wear.

Little brown rock, my constant friend,

in my pocket till the end.


2 thoughts on “The Rock

  1. Awww, lovely poem. My sister used to collect rocks all the time. We lived in a caravan as new immigrants and she filled the under sink cupboard with them – a child needing permanence?


    • I meant to respond to this forever ago.. but, I approved the comment and forgot about responding until today.

      That is a sweet story. It is interesting how we latch onto funny little things like that, and attach emotion to them. Kind of reminds me of some relationships I’ve had. …


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