When
outgoing tides were calm,
We found
rocks flat and perfectly round…
Held between
our forefinger and thumb
We skipped
them into the sound.
The most
successful throws,
Skipped ten
times across the surface…
Smoothly
sailing across the water,
Yet some
stones sank on purpose.
Sometimes a
piece of tree bark,
With a paper
sail made a boat…
It floated
out into the lake,
Only refusing to float.
Love can
appear as a dream yacht,
Happiness
and luxuries galore…
Yet the
finest boat lacking honesty,
Will never
make it to shore.
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