A Poem by Pete Crowther

Beach 04

How many tides

have rolled it round,

this stone I hold

warm in my hand?

Rose-pink and grey

it is, you’d say,

the sky at dawn,

or held this way,

the silver glitter

of sun on water.

Sea-washed and smooth

it seems to breathe,

familiar there

like an old friend,

or a father’s warm palm

to the hand of a child.

This is a break from my poetry and I do love this one.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

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Thoughts Become Words