Seventeen stones

Seventeen stones I have today,
Each one's a different shade,
Every stone's a stone away,
And each shade a shade too gray.

The first three came in a wicker bowl,
The next two floated on the wind,
Five others swam through winter cold,
And six more were to satin pinned.

At once I cast them into a fire,
Who doesn't fear unnatural gifts?
But driftwoods make a poorly pyre,
For the stones returned the fire to drifts.

I placed them in an army line,
And painted all a glorious hue,
But color's only on whiteness fine,
The stony gray bled right through.

I swallowed each and every one,
Till sixteen did my stomach flood,
Their stoney essence came undone,
And ran, like ink, into my blood.

Seventeen stones I have today,
Sixteen live in me as parts,
What once was red now is gray,
And the Seventeenth is my heart.

Adam and Eve: incomplete.

"Wish, wish," wailed the winter wind,
"The earth can't see her feet!
The world has thinned coz the Sky has sinned,
And poor Adam's incomplete."

"Incomplete?!" I gasped, aghast,
"But Eve's not even here!"
"Eve?" The winter wind recast,
"That's why he's incomplete, my dear!"

Father's day special.

My teacher told me earnestly,
"I can only give you knowledge, see?
And if 'smart' is all you want to be,
then I am all you'll ever need."

My mother later came and said,
"Knowledge alone will swell your head,
I'll give you love and teach you care,
Use them well, and well you'll fare."

My sister then knocked on my door,
Said, "I'll teach you not to be a bore,
To share and cheer and entertain,
And how not to be a pain."

My friend, who'd heard all of this,
Swore that something was amiss,
Said, "All the things your lists have had,
You can find in just your DAD."