This anonymously written poem is sent out to Fab Grandma, and anyone else who…
Collecting Rocks
I think there shall never be
An ignoramus quite like me,
Who roams the hills throughout the day
To pick up rocks that do not pay;
For there’s one thing, I’ve been told:
I take the rocks and leave the gold.
O’er deserts wild or mountains blue
I search for rocks of varied hue.
A hundred pounds or more I pack,
With blistered feet and aching back.
And after this is said and done,
I cannot name a single one.
I pick up rocks where’er I go,
The reason why I do not know,
For rocks are found by fools like me
Where nature intended them to be.
This truly fits me, except I can name many of them.