Three Rocks

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars" ~ Oscar Wilde I hold three magic rocks, in my hand Rolling them over and over and over Leaving this reality behind, far behind... In the real world, I had been sitting (sadly, as my brow was knitting) in the city square, homelessly, in my sorrow, with no hope for tomorrow, 'cept perhaps a dime to borrow. There was no one to care. Then the statue there before me came to life with something for me - three magic stones - a sapphire to make me wise, a ruby in which passion lies, an emerald green for growing size. Below me were my bones. I was soft and cute, so maybe, Yes! I had become a baby with three magic charms - an infant with three magic gems, and so the emerald made me grow and grow into a big man to who could catch and throw, with two strong arms. With the sapphire, I made wise decisions. Soon I had more than ample provisions - in fact, I was rich. The ruby was not to be outdone. I made love to almost everyone. One can have a lot of fun, wearing not a stitch. Ah, so wonderful if it weren't tragic, in my hands, no rocks of magic. I did not have any, a policeman did awaken me. and I had been mistaken, once again, forsaken with two nickels and a penny.