When she left, she left him a pebble,
a small, smoothly rounded stone;
she had never been one for gabble
and was smart without a phone.
He did not mind no words were spoken,
because words can be a pain,
instead he had this token,
something solid to retain.
Polished by seasons and weather,
it felt good to touch and hold,
as if they were somehow still together
in infinity's timeless fold.
And so they had curbed the twists of fate
with a simple mineral aggregate.