Don Pearson's Pebble: The Quest for the Ideal

It is said that, on this shore, <br />Lies the ideal pebble. <br />I spend my life, with aching back, <br />Looking, weighing, examining <br />The texture, the colour while dry, <br />The sensuous colour when wet, <br />The contouring and curves, <br />The size, the polish, the shape. <br />Beyond all else, <br />I seek to know <br />The mystery inside. <br /> <br />I have held many pebbles, <br />Some time after time. <br />Some have been close <br />To my perfection, <br />All have been discarded. <br /> <br />Should I find it, <br />If I recognise it, finally, <br />I shall heft it, <br />Toss it once in my hand, <br />Draw back my arm <br />And cast it <br />(a perfect, effortless flick) <br />into the sea. <br /> <br /> <br />(For Nicola/27th October 2006)<br /><br />Don Pearson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pebble-4/