Thursday, April 21, 2016

Jack Scott writes



The Toad in the Stone

The toad in the stone waited,
waited all alone . . . still
till the rush of years abated.
Those who poured the rock around him
passed on and under their own stones,
became no more than bones,
then . . . nothing
while the toad lay waiting,
suspended,
unblinking,
frozen in the rock,
unthinking.
Then,
to the sound of empires rumbling,
the rock from ‘round the toad came crumbling
            in the unsoft dawn of war.
Exposed,
the waiting toad blinked,
withered,
and was no more.

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