“O hardened heart!” cries the stone,
Alas, failing beauty, the flowers bemoan.
Green to brown, grasses sad fanfare,
Breeze entwined in thistle, cool respite rare.
For man alone awaits those days –
“The new times, better times”, he vacantly prays.
Impatiently wringing, hands gnarly worn.
Overtly succumbed, contrived and forlorn.
New softening light eases the stone’s point of view.
Layered fragrance for a flower so sweet and new.
Brown to green, the grasses joyfully rave,
Breeze envelops the thistle to a blissful new wave.
For man among men sees this day,
With dove and cross, O death’s dismay.
Dreamily gazing at time beyond,
The grass, the flower, the stone shall bond.
(c) 2014 rick stassi