small stones

it’s a cool, crisp morning,
this walk, this shoreline,
step-by-step, hand-in-hand.

father asks daughter,
what it is in her hand.
to which she bows her eyes,
suddenly shy, fearful to reveal.

father’s hand in one,
other’s grip slowly tightens,
the fist diving deeper,
engulfing her small stone
in opposite, tender pocket.

father patiently smiles,
slowly pulls her close,
pauses pace in time,
careful to lean in, whispers,
"just show me."

father’s gentleness brings courage,
the girl’s gaze can drift upwards,
'til free she pulls her treasure.
little sweaty palms,
shining her precious stone.

father smirks and mirrors the move,
surprised she shifts a glance,
his strong callused hand,
displaying his own,
new and shiny gem.

father pauses, offers a trade,
playful, not teasing.
sinking in, her eyes widen,
paralyzed by the option.
"don’t worry, we can keep both,
but for now you’ll have to let,
me hold that one for now,
trust me, i'll protect.”

father again stands tall,
poised to explain,
"for what you don’t realize,
this one that beautifully shines,
was once a similar small stone,
offered similarly as mine.
now look what it’s become.
for you pick and I polish,
I love the surprise every time.
this swap of hand,
holding hands,
is what we’ve always done."