Stone

Stone



In a field a thousand years ago, I am a stone.
My heart pure and well-intentioned, I am steel,
Pounded a thousand fold, I am hard as stone.
In a time long ago, when hearts were less
pure than my own, I was stone.
When deeds were done and duels were won
I was stone.
When tempers flared and war declared, I was stone.
 Helmet to shield, many would yield,
Yet still I was stone.
Dead to dying a hundred fold, none would grow old,
still I am stone.
Now wheat and rye and goldenrod grow,
Covering old bones, still I am stone.
Moss on my side, sun on my back.
Alone and sedentary.
Cold and cemetery.
I am a stone.