Worn smooth by time, a shard of  emerald rests in her hand, once  sharp and jagged, now softened.  The little girl traces its dull edges,  no longer sharp, yet still uneven,  broken but complete in its new shape. Scattered along the sand, other pieces glisten—blue, white, brown—each one  different. Tumbled in the tide’s grip and toughened by waves.  There they lie, imperfect, not sparkling like gold, but worn. And still, the little girl searches for them everytime.