For Jim and Katy Wallace
Shapes of pebbles:
Roundish and smooth,
But each unique in its face.
Shapes of pebbles:
Each the history of a long journey,
From the mountain to the sea,
On the bed of a river,
Across expanses of clamour and silence,
Through days of fear and despair,
Through nights of storms and tears,
With perpetual struggles
Against wild, witless currents,
Against self-centred, rough fellow travellers.
My pebble is my soul,
But my soul has no face.
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