Make me over a stone on the roll, trample and shake off old moss
The waste and detritus, it flies away, a most agreeable loss
Burnished and polished old bones, sharp edges shorn like quartz
Over and under as downward I tumble with such magnificent force
Fall of perfecting descent, a further decline toward great rise
Soon you'll see through the remnants new body that now never dies
Emerging from out of the bramble, gleaming as expertly honed
Of worth on par with most precious gems, I am that glorious stone
Toppled over into the mire, now grimy and covered in muck
Where goes my wonderful sheen, to the mud in which I am stuck
The end of fortuitous journey an ignominious rest
What once was regarded as worthless is again an inglorious mess
In spite of laborious travel, chipped away at by hardship and pain
Seems almost unthinkable to the stone to find itself back here again
The meaning of all of my rolling, its purpose being no longer known
Your eye will not now rest upon me, I am that forgotten stone
Grown weary from much fruitless hoping for things not now daring to ask
But providence had an intention to bring the stone along this path
A celestial hand reached down from on high to gather up stones for a task
Carried away is the forgotten stone, to be shaped by the master's craft
Ground and sculpted, chiseled and chafed, but can the stone endure
Will it crumble to dust from the pressure or refine into something more pure
The stone is given new radiance, then set upon a pronged throne
And presented to one as a gift of grace, I am that faceted stone
About the Creator
Daniel Cole
Author and artist, I'm finding my spirit again late in life. Old passions for poetry borne of love, loss, hope and pain, things with which everyone is familiar.
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