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WHAT IS THE MAGIC,
THAT OVERCOMES ONES SELF,
WHEN STANDING NEAR THE WATER.
DAYS LONG PAST,
JUST MEMORIES..
MEMORIES THAT LAST.
TO FIND A STONE,
SMOOTHED AND FLAT..
THE PERFECT SKIPPING KIND.
HELD IN THE HAND,
RUBBED FOR LUCK..
THEN WITH THE FLICK OF WRIST,
SEND IT ON ITS WAY.
SKIPPED ACROSS THE WATERS GLASS,
COUNTING TOUCHES AS IT GOES.
AND AS IT DISAPPEARS FROM OUR SIGHT..
WE THINK OF TIMES AGO,
WHEN SKIPPING STONES MEANT SO MUCH,
MEMORIES OF OUR YOUTH.
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SKIPPING STONES
SKIPPING STONES
