I skipped a stone across the water <br />Into the setting sun <br />Watched interlocking ripples <br />Each and every one <br /> <br />Skitter, skitter, skitter <br />Went that fated orb <br />Dancing oh so lively <br />Toward the yonder shore <br /> <br />Chosen for its smoothness <br />It traveled straight and low <br />One moment proud above the lake <br />The next submerged below <br /> <br />I tossed a stick a little later <br />As night began to fall <br />I couldn’t see the ripples <br />The darkness took them all <br /> <br />Whoosh, and whirl, and splash <br />Into the drink it went <br />I like to think it landed <br />Where the rock was sent <br /> <br />I have no doubt it floated <br />For it was light and dry <br />A marker for the stone <br />In juxtaposed demise <br /> <br />I contemplate their meaning <br />Their ripples soak my bones <br />Soaring, skipping, floating, drowning <br />I dream of sticks and stones<br /><br />Tim Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sticks-and-stones-7/
