THIS LITTLE STONE
by Daniel Pitner

This Little Stone
It wades in the river.
The Water rushing across its surface
Making it smooth, and refined.

One day, scooped up from its bed,
It’s tossed against the waves;
Bouncing against the current-
No control and blind.

—

A storm is brewing,
And the heavens begin to circle.
Darkness falls
And rain pours down.

Lightening crashes
Against the water.
And into the water this little stone sinks
To the river’s lowest ground.

—

This little stone,
So little and frail,
To no avail it waits
In the deep dark water.

So deep that
No light can reach it.
It sits in the abyss
Where it’s colder than hotter.

—

On the surface it’s chaos,
But in the deep it’s still.
The Blackness is empty,
Yet peaceful and tranquil.

Fathoms below where the sky touches the water,
This  little stone abides.
Safe from the tides and winds above.
Here time seems unreal.

—

But once upon a time,
Maybe eons later,
A lone fish scavenges for  food;
Eating in mass.

It scoops up algae,
Along with dirt and gravel.
This little stone trades dark water
for the belly of a bass.

—

The fish carries the stone
Higher and higher.
Against some force
The fish tried and fought.

But this little stone’s time in the water
Was coming to a close.
The fish arose out from the water.
By a fisherman it was caught.

—

He takes his catch home,
This fisherman,
Thinking about how he
Might prepare his dinner.

Unaware of
This little stone’s troubles,
Or that it was even
In his tenure.

—

And so he filleted his catch
With experienced  skill.
Still, this fisherman noticed
Something is odd.

What’s this?
A rock?
A little stone
Buried in fish and sod.

—

He pulled out the rock,
This fisherman did; cleaning off all the muck.
The slime, the grime, the filth and dirt.
He washed this little stone over an old bucket.

And as he scrubbed and polished
His eyes could not believe the sight.
This wasn’t some ordinary stone,
But a bright gold nugget.

—

What could he buy, this fisherman wondered.
He was richer than the day before;
Pondering all the many things,
All the  possibilities he had in store.

So he put this little stone
In his shirt pocket,
Where it was dark like the water;
Unsure what is would be used for.

—

So this fisherman went back to the river
to catch the new day’s meal.
This little stone sat quiet in his pocket
As he caught many more fish.

Day after day in the dark,
This little stone traveled with this fisherman,
Wondering what would become of it.
With this little stone this fisherman could buy a big delicious dish.

—

As time passed on this fisherman grew old,
But never did he spend the gold.
Within his pocket it rested,
Between his heartbeat and stitches sewn.

Safe in the dark of soft linen,
Where it would never again be alone.
It was much too precious to this fisherman to sell,
So he kept it all his days, this little stone.

© 2010 Daniel Pitner. All Rights Reserved.