A Lone Stone

September 23, 2008
By
A loving mother waits patiently
Rocking in her chair gracefully.

A quiet daughter sits inside
Waiting for her ride.

A horn sounds from the road
There sits a taxi, green as a toad.

Mother rises, daughter stands
Bags are in her hands.

Mother squeezes something small
As daughter walks into the hall.

Mother feels it's smooth surface
Thinking of it's purpose.

Daughter exists home
And stands in front of mother in a sweater she had sewn.

Mother looks into her eyes
Noticing how they both cried.

She hands her the stone she holds
Daughter looks closely at it's many folds.

Daughter holds it close to her heart
Before she must depart.





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