stones and pebbles of Victoria Woolf

just a thought: perchance,
my dreams are like
Victoria Woolf's stones
weighting down my soul

I have a collection of those,
each shiny from every day polish
as I make my prayers, each dream passes my fingers
like a rosary bead

and I know tomorrow
as I keep stumbling down the path of my life
I will come across another,
glistering in the sun, catching my eye

will hoard it in my pocket
and shuffle toward Hades