Private Conversation (…from “1001 Very Short Fairytales”, Story #999) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

I am, I am, said the wind,
To the stone;
I will rock you,
I will rock you, if you let me.
Call my name, it has no end
And I will blow,
Until you fall
Around yourself,
In your stony world.
Outside is fun
With a gusting lot to do,
But you are on your own;
Hard and cold, hard and cold!
Why don't you embrace
My Swirling looks,
To make your world move a Bit.

You are, you are, said the stone,
To the wind;
You can't move me, you can not...,
For I am deep in the soil of earth.
How much you blow,
You can not move me;
Though you try every fall
And every year,
In your feathery world
Of gusting wind.
Inside's a dark obsidian,
My restful soul
And I lie in a fertile soil;
Soft and dark, soft and dark!
I need no other embrace,
Not a swirling look.
So, give it Up!