Mystery Of The Square Stone Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Mystery of the square stone
As centuries drift on by
And the stone is there alone
With earth dust and the sky
Flowers have grown awhile
Giving their seeds of age
For occasions and a style
Each in their own laid stage

The playful circling rising
On every occurrence’s tide
In flow of their surprising
When moments awhile abide
A pondering of its mystery
That no one really knows
From strange times and free
No memories ever shows

Though we are still looking
Trying to resolve and find
The past is on blocking
Eyes of knowledge blind
As seeds will come and grow
To make this stone lost
In tomorrows’ coming slow
Where history has crossed