Rolling River God, little stones are smooth.
Only once the water passes through.
So I am a stone, rough and grainy still
Trying to reconcile this river's chill.
Sometimes raging wild, sometimes swollen high
And never have I known this river dry.
The deepest part of you is where I want to stay
And feel the sharpest edges wash away.
But when I close my eyes and feel you rushing by,
I know that time brings change and change takes time.
And when the sunset come, my prayer would be this one
That you might pick me up and notice that I am
Just a little smoother in your hand.
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