Little Stones
My window sill is laden with little stones
Of no particular color, shape or size
Given to me as if they were diamonds
By his little hand, my own special prize
Each one had its small story to tell
A recital of just when and where it was found
Washed and polished with loving care
Oh the stories, they went round and round
Small things make up the embroidery of life
The joys that carry us through our days
Like a collage of colored stones on the sill
A small thing, precious in its own way….
For Anthony's contest....
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