The Rock That Chose Me

The Rock That Chose Me

I wasn't looking for treasure,
Or riches buried deep.
I only sought a quiet trail,
Where rivers softly sleep.

The morning sun was climbing,
The forest fresh with dew.
The birds sang from the branches,
As gentle breezes blew.

My boots crossed over pebbles,
Past moss and weathered stone.
I never felt surrounded,
Though I walked there all alone.

Then something caught my vision—
A glimmer in the light.
A simple piece of quartz,
Not dazzling... yet somehow bright.

I picked it up with wonder,
Its edges rough and worn.
It had been there through countless years,
Through every season born.

Before the roads and cities,
Before the maps we know,
It waited in that river,
Patient with the flow.

It wasn't rare or flawless,
It held no famous name.
Yet somehow in that moment,
My life was not the same.

For rocks are more than objects,
More than shelves upon a wall.
They're chapters Earth has written,
Waiting for us all.

Some people chase perfection,
The biggest or the best.
A rockhound knows the greatest finds
Are those that speak the rest.

So now upon my bookshelf,
That little stone still stays.
A quiet reminder of the trail,
And simpler, slower days.

Some treasures aren't discovered
Because they're rich or grand.
Sometimes they're simply waiting...
For the right heart,
And the right hand.

— Ginger

About The Author

MGR

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