Pebbles

Smoothe little pebbles dot the shore,

catching my eye with their details,

No little stone exactly like the others,

grooves and curves and colors

define their individuality.

I place a few in my pocket,

the ones who stand out most.

I run my fingers over the smooth little pieces of earth,

wondering all they’ve seen in their days on the shore

and how they came to be.

There’s a hag stone in my left pocket,

to let me see the faeries

with a bit of basalt birthed of volcanos,

that disguised itself amounts the glossy little pebbles undisturbed.

Pockets full of pebbles,

I treat them like treasures from

Mother Earth herself.