Skipping Stones
Looking for the perfect one, along the lake-front shore;
Mine resulted in ten quick skips, he wants his to skip one more.
I watched the mirror of myself, thirty years removed;
Trying to outdo his Dad as if something that would prove.
He squats and examines each stone he finds looking for one smooth and flat;
My boy is growing into a young man – into a fine one as a matter of fact.
He picks his stone and sidearm throws it against the water’s surface top;
I counted eight but yelled, “Thirteen!” when that stone came to a stop.
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