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.
from Mary E. Taylor, Woman Psalms, 1992