Iceland memories

Upon my shelf I keep three stones,
each taken from different zones,
each stone to me’s worth more than gold,
bringing memories from Iceland, cold.

First I took from Gullfoss fall,
with rainbows sparkling in the mist.
The thundering waters raised a squall,
I hid the stone within my fist.

The second came from Geysir park,
where geysers spouted in the air,
the cobalt water, bright yet dark,
the stone was smooth, pale grey and fair.

The third was from a black-sand beach,
where lonely birds would swoop and soar.
The coal-black stone was just in reach,
the loud waves pounded on the shore.

Upon my shelf I keep three stones,
each taken from different zones,
each stone to me’s worth more than gold,
bringing memories from Iceland, cold.