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‘You’re a rock.

My rock.’

You said


What kind of a rock am I?


Do you stand on me

to get a better view?


Do you step on me

to cross the stream?


Do you sit on me

to weep a while?


Or do you hold me in your hand

like a talisman?


‘All four and more.’

You say


Oh my!


‘Your rock has a cave

where I shelter and see

paintings that reflect

the beauty in me.’


‘But, dear rock,’

You ask

‘What rock holds you?’


My rock can heal,

but can’t be hurt


Sure as a mountain

free as a bird


My rock is in me

and in all I survey


My rock, the Beloved

And his love, my way.