Precious Stones

Another lesson from my walks on the beach comes to mind today. My dear wife loves to wander the shoreline and gather pieces of broken glass which have been polished by the action of the waves. For her own enjoyment, she finds beauty and value in these "jewels." At the same time, she is also one who requires but little in the way of actual precious stones for her happiness. In the bigger picture, and certainly from an eternal perspective, perhaps her bits of polished glass have as much intrinsic value as any from a real jewelry store. It gives me pause consider the real value of many of the things which we posses. One thing I know, she is happier wandering the shore with a pocket full of glass than many women who have piles of diamonds in their safety deposit boxes. And happier makes all the difference.

Precious Stones
As she wanders down the shoreline, she stoops, just now and then
Surveying something on the beach and then she's off again
At intervals she pauses, in her journey down the sand
Recovering some precious stone which glints within her hand
Are they diamonds, are they emeralds, or rubies on the ground
What jewels has she discovered here, which no one else has found
At last the treasure hunter brings her prizes back to me
A pocket full of broken glass, washed and polished by the sea
Which we add to the collection she began so long before
Of countless other jewels like these, from countless other shores
A thing of beauty, I'm reminded, needn't be gems or gold
Such treasure brings but little comfort to the lonely and the old
I have known so many people who gathered real precious stones
Who collected gold and silver, and all such trappings one can own
Yet, it has never made them happy, and as the long years pass
They have rarely know the simple joy my treasure hunter finds in glass
And I'm content to fill my pockets with her treasures from the sea
Because she truly is a priceless gem ... who, somehow, treasures me

By Frank Carpenter ©