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....