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A Mere Pebble

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A mere pebble, you say,
Fit for a sheer chuck to tumble away.
Unwelcome and “unappointed”,
Rugged and pointed,
Repulsive and serrated,
I came, my initial impression derated.
My public image verified warp,
From a class beneath that of a dorp.

But the genesis of a well-worth pain,
Suddenly dawns upon my immature sane.
An everlasting circle of the ceaseless tumble,
My potholed jaggedness will be shunned to humble.

United with other dull-looking rocks,
We plunge and none can refrain, not even iron locks.
The jostling and hustling,
Chipping off my jagged crags in the bustling,
Like that of a maternal hand prodding me on,
The stream’s gentle current polishes me ‘til dawn.
Unlike the bellowing foam of a cascade,
To scour away a horrid edge that hadn’t a heart to fade.

I’ll disembark to the bank,
Somewhere lucent and suave, not quite the deep-sea dank.
With a cabaret of a crisp vibrant brook,
To display my fine glossy feel without a nook.
A foreign shade of hue,
Is it green, yellow, blue?
No, a sole word couldn’t sum it up,
A blissful splendor, sweet as honey to sup.

Once distorted and crippled,
Now slicker than a stream’s ripple.
A peculiar tale, indeed,
How much roughing up would you would need?





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