If we picked our friends like seashells,
How picky would we be?
We’d pick the nicest, the shiniest,
The finest of the sea.
But what about the broken ones?
The ones we’ve left behind?
Missing little pieces,
Broken and resigned.
Forever they’re forgotten.
Left for all of time.
All because of little things,
And no longer in their prime.
They’ve had some bumps along the way,
That might have chipped their shells.
But they’ve withstood the test of life,
And now have stories to tell.
So if we picked our friends like seashells,
We’d miss the true lesson.
To not pick based on external beauty,
But pick based on their essence.