THE JUDGES
Crouched on wet shingle at the cove
In day-long search for treasure-trove--
Meaning the loveliest-patterned pebble,
Of any colour imaginable,
Ground and smoothed by a gentle sea--
How seldom, Julia, we agree
On our day's find: the perfect one
To fetch back home when day is done,
Splendid enough to stupefy
The fiercest, most fastidious eye--
Tossing which back we tell the sea:
'Work on it one more century!'
--Robert Graves
