Skipping stones on snow water creeks.
Hawks hover over to see the fish.
Our lives, perhaps are this way;
Filled with chance and daring.
How many times can we skip through?
Lives of a cat, they say nine;
rainbows that give the river its’ shine.
Can’t remember the things that are true,
the life and times they say are mine.
But if I skip and stumble through
on water or on land
I am a skipping stone
and will smooth my rough edges.
Only to be picked up and tested again.
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