I would be my touchstone,
Unearth my waiting heart
Which is my own still centre,
The source where springs the soul.
False starts, mistakes, rebuffs
Erode, as waves against a rock,
To make my surface smooth
And mould me to my shape.
Come lap against me, waves,
Refine but don’t destroy me,
For I would be my touchstone
Against myself to measure me.
©Virginia Rounding, 1990
Virginia Rounding: Author/editor/proofreader 