I am a little thing, washed up here on the stones, so hard and glossy and rounded and unyielding.
I am mostly water myself, and will soon shrivel and dry and lose myself to the wind.
I am mostly water myself, and will soon shrivel and dry and lose myself to the wind.
I am a little thing, under the pressing ice, so thick and heavy and cold and pressing.
I am only stone myself, and will soon fracture and break apart into an igneous skeleton.
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