Stone Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

As though a cloth, and soaking still,
Takes all the memory from the world,
If left behind, is lost until,
The buried earth has been unfurled.
And often in the ground below,
Or oft above, as we often go,
A stone adores us, still as swift,
As sacred bark no man may lift.
And since in stationed place remain,
A stone may guide, or shield the rain,
And yet, we all return to stone,
For the life we live is not our own.