From stones thrown into the pond
Ripples inevitably abound
And if the stones are cruel or hurtful,
Damaging ripples spread around.
Once the stone has left the arm
The ripples can in no way stay.
They will travel where they will
Carrying sorrow and dismay.
Who knows where the ripples reach?
Who knows with what pain and woe?
This relentless and strange tide
Washes alike over friend and foe.
So stay the arm, drop the stone,
From the heart let good things flow.
In casting them upon the tide
Beautiful ripples wash and glow.