Parable of Stones

Every morning I sally forth
into the world, my pockets
are full of stones.

You cannot see them
where my hands are hid
sometimes bruised by their edge.

O, a quick and deadly aim
have I,and ask no questions.
My hands are cold.

A few stones left have I
at each day's end,
and I groan as my hands bleed

My state - who can endure?
As morning breaks , I know again
I have More stones to cast

You cannot see them
where my hands close
and all my days bleed.

Who will close my morning?
O, who will empty
my pockets of its stones?


  1. Cheyne said...:

    This is great info to know.

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