Lifted from the ground
By a reaching hand

Soon tossed to sea
Only to be worn

By the massive waves
That will soon wash it back ashore

A process repeated
Day after day

If only it could stay buried in the sand
Forgotten and lost to the world

Lifted from the ground
By a reaching hand

As the hand reaches eye level
The pebble waits for the impact of the roaring tide

The hand stops
Rolls it over three or four times

Then hold it close
With a strength to crush but a gentle warmth

The pebble is saved
From the cold dark sea and bitter coarse sand

Brought to a place
Where every flaw shines back to its inner beauty