Beach Stone

It was warm in my hand – the flat stone from the beach
Had drawn my attention, invited my reach.

It wasn’t attractive, not sparkling or bright,
Just grey on the sand among shells wet and white.

Did its wave-skipping surface or Vineyard like shape
Catch my eye, make me bend to this piece of Cape?

Its warmth was surprising, like soul in the stone,
Giving comfort, assurance I wasn’t alone.

So together we walked up the beach hand in hand,
My steps washed away by the waves on the sand.

Without quite deciding, my walk at an end,
I put in a pocket my quiet grey friend.

For years now it’s lain by the light at my bed
Where I’d notice it sometimes at night as I read.

And now on occasion, I reach out to clasp,
Not warm but remembered, the feel of its grasp.