I have been here longer than you,
Though not in this spot.
I have existed for years, decades, even centuries.
To me, you are young.
They brought me here and placed me down,
Far from my home
stranded
Unable to move.
Now I rest,
Forgotton,
Surrounded by others with a similar past.
In the cool shade beneath a shrub
I sit, speaking my story to the wind.
Knowing I will never return home.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonesome Rock and other Poems and Shorts
PoetryWhat does a lonely rock think as it sits all alone? What does the last dandelion do as it waits to be devoured? What happened in the house on the hill?
