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The Dry Pebble

I am an unskipped pebble,
less rounded than the others,
I too sharp and they flat,
tops smooth and glossy as wine,
mine dull as winter's reap,
They shall touch sweet reward,
and I will sit here bored,
what purpose is it that I serve,
but to make them feel more deserve?
Yet inside I am a precious gem,
of which they will never know,
for who would dare to try,
to crack the hard-shell of my outside?



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