This rock is lucky as it rests cuddled deep within rich soil.
No enemies to threaten its comfort.
No comfort to contemplate.
Rest and being, centuries of quiet rest and being.
To be a rock, stable at the core,
always a rock never anything more.
Should a hapless farmer unearth the resting rock,
Should new light first meet its cold hard face
Unfazed the lucky rock moves to higher ground
To rest some more.
To never change
For better or worse
To know no sorrow
Pain or pity
To never need.
Will immortal bones
Know rock-like rest
When love is more than salt
Of the earth?
Sitting beside still waters
I envy this rock, my hearty chair
For I must walk away
Into a storm.