Rockhound
THE ROCKHOUND
The warmth of stones emits small sounds
Like whispers to the skin
Their color pure --Sun's fingerprint-- that
Blazes from within.
Scruffy pockets, tiny hands
Collect a scope of shapes--
And big girls yearn for dazzle
As they diamond pin fur capes.
Some hands are called
By pebbles on
Every casual walk .
Eyes-- eagle search -- another find--
There is no worthless rock.
Some traverse to the finest rags
From birthhome in far off mine…..
But the sweetest stone is
Hammer smashed--
Plain rock divulged divine.
Victoria Anderson-Throop 2013
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013
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