After the library at Alexandria burned,

A man walking by found the charred remains

Of a book that described the Philosopher's Stone and where to find it.

And so he sold everything he had

And moved up to the coast of Spain

And set up camp on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

The book described a smooth black pebble,

That might appear as any other 

That you could see on that shore.

But the book explained the mystery 

Of how one would know the Philosopher's Stone

By the fact that it would feel cool to the touch

Instead of warm, as one would expect 

A normal pebble to be from lying there on the sun.

And the story goes that the man

Contrived a plan so that he wouldn't continue 

To try the same pebbles over and over.

He would pick one up and feel it,

And if it were warm, he would

Hurl it into the sea.

And so he did this day after day,

Until one occasion when he reached down 

And grabbed a pebble 

And felt that it was cool,

And he stood up,

And hurled it into the sea!

Immediately he recoiled 

In grief and pain.

He had thrown the Philosopher's Stone away,

And would surely never find it again,

And why?

Because he was in such a rut of habit,

That before he could think 

That something was different here,

He had acted out of rote.

So I hope I don't go on

Doing the same old same old things,

And miss some spontaneous magic

That might happen to me.

I hope I can be aware

Of a lovely chance 

To stare into some extraordinary thing

(Like your eyes)

And understand what a chance that I've been given.

-jenn