The stone begs to be touched,
Set apart from the others
by its smooth, lustrous shine.
There's something different here
I know in an instant.
It wasn't easy to become
The object of beauty I admire.
It took years--
Hard knocks, gritty abrasion,
Wearing down...day after day...
The rough edges must have protested
But had no choice but to concede
To the power of the Wave--
Who kept pounding until His work was complete.
I slip it into my pocket
Letting my fingers linger.
And I pray.
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