You lay in my room,
kind and gentle.
I run my fingers through
your softness
and I feel nostalgic.
By one single touch,
the memories of my childhood
are able to come.
After enduring brutal waves
and rough sand
that threaten to harshen
your complexion,
I am amazed at how you, stones,
after traveling across lakes
and rivers
remain small and humble,
full of hope.
You are wise and old.
You have seen things
that no others have.
And I am always brought back
to our summers in Michigan
where I search for you.
Stones, you care for my soul
just as much as I care
for your presence and existence.
But stones,
you don’t ask for much.
You are pleased with life.
You take whatever comes to you.
Whether it may be rocky shores,
or soft endearing hands.
And this, stones,
is what puzzles me the most.
You are always there
for me to admire,
never minding to be
dropped or fiddled with.
Always content.
And your love for me,
is unconditional.
Oh stones, why are you so selfless?
I have taken you
from your natural habitat,
the bedrock of Illinois,
the shores of Lake Michigan.
I have put you on display,
far from home.
How have you forgiven me
for doing such a thing?
