Rounded, soft edges
Weathered, tossed, churned, and beaten
Carried away
Then back again

Murmle, gurgle, echoes low
The waters wash
Over, around and surrounds

Quiet beauty in a violent storm
Euphonious sounds as waters ebb
Objects of beauty
Out of place

There are so many
All unique
It’s hard to choose
Each better than the next

In the end the choice too great
It’s best they stay

To frolic
With the others
They will remain

For there must be
More, soft edges