I remember –  now. 

I think,  of how – 

You felt the sand grains, 

Move and shift, 

Beneath your feet. 

Great rocks, grown smaller – 

Into pebbles, smaller still, 

Have come to settle, 

In this small bay. 

Mighty continents sprawl, 

Between your toes,

Worn down over time, 

And yet – 

When, in furnace placed, 

The dull yellows,  the browns, 

Transform,  and become like glass. 

Becoming not darker, 

By time and pressures hand, 

But clearer still, and reflective – 

A beauty created, 

A clarity obtained. 

Kevin Brown © 16.10.2016