Collection

Rocks,

Pebbles, chips of boulders,

Pieces of the Earth,

           or Shards of Fallen Starlight.

I open,

My desk drawer, filled with rocks,

Of all shapes and sizes,

          A most curious thing.

With colors

like flowery blossoms,

And Outer-Space planets,

         They tell a story.

Inscripted

with my Memories,

They have faces,

       A Collection of sorts.

Ageless

wonders they hold,

A mystery, a certain,

     Strength and Power.

They

awe me and bring back Memories,

Of where they came and when

     I put them in my Collection,

     Like a piece added to a

     stained glass Window. 

The End

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