Beneath the clouds

2015-02-17 red rose

Beneath the clouds where roses grow, I picked up a pebble walking near the shore. I felt its smooth texture as it nearly melted in my touch. Holding it tight I heard a poet say:

“throw away that pebble, let go of that dream; if it’s made of gold and is to keep,
it will shine on you tomorrow from the sky, turned into the fresh morning Sun…”

But I was afraid to let go, for what if this one was made of love, not of gold?

© Iva Beranek (Dublin, March 2015)
Photo by © Iva Beranek


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