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A Thought

A Poem by:

Eithne Cavanagh

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Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

A pebble sits on the blank page,

grey, flecked with tiny pale splashes

the paper, clean white, fine grey lines.


Pebble, are you Atlantic-tumbled,

your edges wavebattered, rounded?

An ancient fragment of Wicklow granite,

or storm washed from a distant beach?


You may be a micro fragment of rainforest

distantly related to this page

and through the interconnectedness

of all things I am related to you, my little pebble.


Your circles ripple towards an infinity

of their own rhythmic dance in a still pond,

tiny rainbows prismed within each splash.


Hello, Pebble, pleased to meet you.


Eithne Cavanagh
Copyright © 2004

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