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Post by LessThanNothing »

A Stone here stands
That has not moved
As waves and tides
And quick spring brook
Dance round
As the sands of time
Flow steadfast
Nine to naught to nine

The Sun resplendent
Shines his rays
Through crowns of oaks
On better days
And quiet moon
Reflects his light
Her gentle beauty
Shares at night

On winter evenings
Gale and rain
The stone they batter
Till again
New morning comes
With robin's song
A blissful moment
Though not long

A day will come
The stone will shake
From weary slumber
Shall awake
Free those long legs
Earth's burden drop
And walk towards
The mountaintop

- S

What is realised in my history is not the past definite of what was, since it is no more,
or even the present perfect of what has been in what I am,
but the future anterior of what I shall have been for what I am in the process of becoming...
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