Rocks and Water by Heather Wheat

My son stands before me, facing away,
his shirt back straight, his posture
perfect.
I am afraid that when he turns to
face me, after dropping his rock in a
bucket half-full of water,
he will be
10,
20,
30,
and I will regret those
millennia in between.
A drop of water strikes a rock;
I see just how quickly the
surface changes,
but the substance beneath stays
the same.
And I am grateful for love.

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