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By John Robert Quinn / October 6, 1981

As long as I can recall I have been fond Of pebbles.Worn Smooth by a brook They are like thoughts Mulled over in the mind. Polished by sand and sea, No two alike In shape or color, They tell of past Millenniums. They make Of reticence, of long Survival, a kind Of affirmation. In awe And wonderment I hold A pebble in the hand.

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