Rebecca Fountain Song

Across those sands of time you skip,
Deserted child alone
Through my hands you slip
Tiny fingers of water wrung
From my eyes so parched and dry as bone,
And my voice swollen on its tongue
Said nothing against the implacable stone,
But sucked for water with its broken lips and cried;

            Till you arose and
Softly smoothed and shaped the stone
And gave me water for
For my voice to sip,
And gave me water for my voice,
For my voice to sip.

ŠjustWords, Thomas Albert Fox

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