Pebbles Poem by Deborah White

I see a solitary pebble swept up onto a quiet shore
And it makes me think that perhaps, it could be
something just a little bit special, maybe something
just a little bit more. Is it really only a sea stone, a
small pretty rock? Lying there smooth and still; a flat
glistening, unusual, interesting, modest little thing.

Soaking up the balmy sun then sinking gently into
saturated sand. Bathed in golden sunlight, then rinsed,
easily washed by nature’s quiet, kind, ocean blue hand.
Why am I so attracted to its touch, to its pebbly look?
Why do I want to hold it, and read it; like I would a story
laid out carefully in the pages of a favourite book?

Why must I turn it over and over and ponder a long
while, thinking of the places my pebble has been;
wondering what it has done and what it has seen.
Why does it make me think and make me smile?
And isn’t it odd, that after thinking about it so much;
I should want to part with my piece of good luck.

Why do I throw it away just to watch it for a few
fanciful seconds, skim effortlessly over tumbling,
frolicking waves. Knowing full well it will be gone,
and I will likely never see my special pebble again.
Should I not keep it, put it in my pocket, wrap my
fingers tightly around it, keep it somewhere safe?

No, because I know in those quiet few moments when I
hold it in my hand and contemplate it’s being, this is all
I will ever want. Those glorious few seconds when I watch
it skim perfectly over the waves, flying at great speed.
Answers all my questions, and gives me all that I need.
And If it bounces four times, I will certainly take the lead! !