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Poem

You may not be able to get blood out of a stone,
But if you can remember back to your childhood,
Chances are you will know to get joy out of one.

Remember the different sound different stones brought,
As you listened expectantly for the plop,
While trying to keep just far enough away,
To avoid getting wet,
And getting on the wrong side of Mum,
Yet still managing a giggle if you or your playmate get surprised by a stone Making a bigger splash and an even bigger wet patch,
On a new suit clothes.

Remember too trying to count the ripples from the plonk of the stone,
To see if your stone got more ripples 
Than your playmate got.

Or you may remember when you found a good patch of flat stones,
And skipped them across the water,
Which was more of a challenge, 
Than just plonking or bombing,
With the most skips giving better bragging rights,
And something you could whisper to Dad about,
When Mum was out of the room,
You have even enticed Mum to join in when camping by the river,
If the rest of the family were all skimming stones together

If you have not forgotten the simple joys from simple toys,
Chances are your credit card will be free of blood, 
And reading the balance owing in the new year,
Should not ruffle any feathers,
Or disturb the sounds of joy that is abundant within the household.

Oh how I wish I didn't suffer from temporary amnesia,
But thank god it is only temporary,
And I have not lost my common sense.

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