Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge
Hands, blue-veined, sore to the bone
Strong tanned fingers, through muddied sand, dredge
And seek Early Man's sharpened stones
...
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I remember admiring the poetry in motion version of this. Loved the repeated lines, the natural beauty and solitude in the quest, and the final stanza connecting past to present. Well done. -chuck
Reads like a song last stanza brings it all together nice great flow enjoyable to read