Conversation With A Rock

I tried talking to a rock.

It complained about the mud

and said the rain was tearing it down.

It was cold at night, and

when the rain got down in the cracks

it froze.

Now the cracks were spreading

and pieces were falling off.

Sometimes someone would come by

and cover the rock with a blanket

and a tarp to keep the rain off,

but that made it hard to breathe, 

and there was still the mud.

So, the rock said it didn’t care,

and would just sit there

suffering and complaining about its plight

until it was rubble.

I felt badly for the rock,

but knew the most I could do

was come by in the spring

with a shovel.