You May Not Know This About Me

Abi Lofthouse
Abi Lofthouse

You may not know this about me but,

I am a pebble.

Lined up side by side facing the rolling sea,

remarkable, adaptable completely unbreakable.

I caused a brief splash once,

but was engulfed by the riptide of you.

You may not know this about me but,

I am a Martian.

I don’t drink coffee, I don’t watch TV,

worthy, not earthly, a continually journey.

Snort milk from my nose and write with my feet,

but best of all, I can see right through you.

You may not know this about me but,

I am a planet.

I have gravity and atmosphere,

Evolving, revolving, slowly dissolving.

I have a son and a satellite,

I orbit others as they orbit me.

I used to have a moon, it’s never dark now.

You may not know this about me but,

I am a mountain.

I have a snowy peak; a dusting all year round,

weathered, battered but never scattered.

I am still here standing proud.

If you look I am all you can see.

You may not know this about me but,

I am an elephant.

I have wrinkles that are part of me,

I can flap my ears and swish my tail.

I’ve moved my herd to pastures new,

and I will never forget what you said.

You may not know this about me but,

I am a continent.

I’ve shifted, drifted and never tilted.

Man, mammal and Martian rely upon me.

I am settled now with life old and new,

I am whole, complete; I wish the same for you.

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