No stone identical, nor will there ever be,
Each shaped by life’s storms to a different degree,
Where the bluest of skies must be cursed
With relentless winds and clouds that burst,
And silent snows that blind and freeze,
And ice that builds and brings down trees,
And waves of rage that shape the shore,
Where many a stone is stone no more,
And salty sands, once white run red,
And all things living must end up dead,
Sifting through meaning and drifting alone,
Every dream be sworn at, every name be worn from.....stone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.