The Unturned Stone by Richard Weaver

looks back in disgust
at those who walk past
all ignorance and innocence
their world revolving
without thought
around a bliss
never to exist

It knows despair
a hardness unyielding
wind caressing its broad
shoulders for millennia
water insinuating itself
where not welcome

looks beneath itself
nested and embraced by earth
its shape a perfect fit
the earth cooled
the earth heated
by its shape and presence
knows the comfort there
more to come
and leaves well enough 
alone

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