a dusky stone sits in my hand
the lasting mark of sea and sand
its surface smooth from years of wear
the color of a crimson mare
found at the shore washed in by waves
it spent its life in watery caves
the gentle noise of water calms
as if we were on an island of palms
my bare feet sting in the sea of salt
bringing my adventure to a halt
I scoop to pick up this newfound rock
then towards the car I begin to walk
the shells crunching below my feet
my stomach rumbles, eager to eat
I turn once more to survey the bay
and wish that I was here to stay
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