A Stone
Here I sit
Solid in form
Exposed to the elements
Never being born
I wait to be found
And put in a pocket
If cut I won't bleed
I may be a locket
In search for nothing
I'm not alone
I'm beautiful inside
Outside I'm a stone
People pass by me
They never stop
A child picks me up
Into a basket I drop
I sit in a room
'Til one day I'm touched
The feel of a hand
Never meant so much
Copyright © Lena Townsend | Year Posted 2008
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