I am a pebble, being kicked along a

path by a small child.

but, at times, a boulder – immense, immovable

a raindrop, dripping off the roof,

splashing on someone’s head.

a flood, my waters raging –

thundering over the shores.

I am-a seedling, weak, but strong enough

to stand against nature.

a giant oak tree, my trunk twisted with age,

showing the scars of years gone by.

I am a fenced-in lot, allowing some in,

keeping others out,

an open field, grass swaying in the breeze,

laughter, swings, and a sandbox.

no fences.

from Mary E. Taylor, Woman Psalms, 1992