Pebbles fascinate me, and spotting special types along the shore is a favourite pastime. So one day at the beach, it was no surprise that I started jotting down a poem about them.

Precious Pebbles

Wet pebbles, dry pebbles, colourful or grey,
Flat, slim, and smooth ones, skimmed faraway.
Hear the splash, watch them race towards the skyline’s view,
Counting every bounce is amusing to do.  

Collect small and large ones down beside the lake,
Decorated and glazed – rare doorstops they make.
Artists paint their pictures in acrylics or oil,
Some place them in rockeries anchored in soil.  

On sandcastles they adorn battlement and ramp,
And dogs sniff at them as along the beach they tramp.
They line the bottom of rock pools – shallow or deep,
And from underneath them, sea creatures do peep.  

A stream running over them glitter and roam,
Waves crash upon them stirring silvery foam.
Over millions of years, they become golden sand,
Nature’s gift – cool and calming – to hold in one’s hand.