The most precious gems, the Seeing Stones,

Ever moving, locked in their homes,

Displayed for all to see. 

With them I behold vistas fine,

Great mountains, forests, oceans that shine,

Wonders of earth, sky and sea. 

I also see details of things,

The fragile snowflakes, or butterfly wings,

Subtle patterns fused intricately. 

They show me, too, a person’s soul,

The overtures of a friend I know,

Or the movements of an enemy. 

They last for decades of endless labor,

Durable, yet fragile as a vapor,

Snuffed out so easily. 

They come in many colors, truly,

Emerald, topaz, lapis lazuli,

For my color, please tell me. 

And pray, what tribute would be paid,

To regain them, if broken or waylaid,

A king’s ransom, surely. 

But no emperor’s wealth of old,

Could re-buy them, lost or sold,

Though to you they were given freely. 

Yes, these stones which see beyond the skies,

Are my intricate, delicate God-made eyes,

So common, yet so precious to me. 

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(This poem was written, with much reflection, on the day after my right eye was hit with the blade of a hockey stick during a pick-up game with my sons. My eye was all right after a few days. – 10/21/04)

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