She stopped in a sunny patch along the path,
picked up a stone-- a small stone,
pebble, really.
Look, she said, holding it up,
how the light shines through it.
She gave it to me and I saw that, yes, it was
somewhat translucent.
It was smooth and round on one side
but when turned over,
rough,
with black dirt embedded in crevices.
As stones or pebbles go, rather ordinary,
and having described it, I can't say "nondescript,"
although that's what I would mean to say.
I handed it back. She held it up once
and put it in her pocket.
Being beautiful, she has pity for homely things.