Wet Stones
Wet Stones
Wet stones
Humid pieces of time
Piled up like fossilized bones.
Covered in a rug of lime.
Water has carried away
The sediments of ancient stories
And has smoothed the memories
Of a history written in clay.
The heavy rains of fall
Brush unmercifully
The bluish stoned wall
But they remained steadily.
Harsh and cold winter waters
Caress the green moss surface.
Soft velvet the rock cover
That centuries shaped amorphous.
Spring crowned with flowers
The frilly ferns around your base.
A school of fish swirl and meanders
In and out the rocky maze.
Summer sun shines scattered
Drawing patterns on rocky mound.
Big rocks, small rocks shattered.
Whispering river, flute like sound.
Maybe once a fairy hovered.
Or a princes sat above
With a bunch of pretty flowers
He loves me... He doesn’t ... love.
