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Gravel
April 8, 2016
I pick up a pebble,
I dust it off,
And little by little,
A joy does become that rock.
It does not think the way I think,
It does not talk the way I talk,
But the conversations and ideas we share,
Would knock you off your block.
It starts small,
And It grows and grows,
Why it happens?
Not one soul knows.
My dear, dear little rock,
You are a beautiful peace,
You always live so freely,
You are marvelous, to say the least.
© Danielle L., League City, TX
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