Across

Eamon Friel Cop. Con.

I’m skimming stones across the lake
I count the little leaps they make
Each one must venture on its own
And ripples ring each single stone

A flight of fantasy and yet
I want the stone that I have hurled
To make its way upon the wind across the waters
Across the waters of the world

I save the sweetest stone for last
And when the final stone is cast
I watch it go it sways and swings
As if it went on seabird’s wings

There is a river in the hills
That turned the wheels of watermills
The mills are gone the wheels are done
A single stone spins in the sun