I picked up a pebble on the beach one day.
It was smooth and flat.
I asked it how this came to be;
It said 'twas made like that.
I asked this little rock "by whom?"
"The ocean's waves," the thing replied.
"I was worn by ocean's waves
And washed up on the tide."
"Oh, little tide, why did you this?"
The little tide just laughed.
"I am always running, running,
Running fore and aft."
"Oh, pebble dear, how old are you?"
"I am aged and worn.
I was once a boulder, large,
And from a mountain torn."
I took that pebble home with me,
All wrapped in colored bands.
Set upon the mantle there
The grand old boulder stands.