Where Meadow and edge of Forest met
A pudding-stone, massive conglomerate,
Had fallen from High Cliff above
When Wind and Rain began to shove,
And down he came and there he sat,
Cold, grey, and bare and bald and fat.
He overpowered all the scene,
Distant, aloof and towering.
He didnt seem to know or care
That hed displaced the others there,
And all the Forest dwellers found
That Stone had best be got around.
About his feet ran little Stream,
Her course diverted by his beam.
While on her way, Ferns spores shook off.
Some landed on Stones old, hard toff.
Sorry, she said. Had she not been green
Red would have coloured her lacy screen.
Stone sat as though he hadnt heard,
As deaf as stone to her humble word.
He seemed unfriendly, hard and grey,
A stranger getting in their way,
And Fern and Moss and all the rest
Left Stone alone which seemed the best.
Well, the wee spores found a niche each one,
And Rain came down and dappled Sun,
And soon across old Stones bald top
Appeared a sprouting ferny crop,
But rather than frown on this youthful gig
He kind of liked the feathery wig.
It saved his pate from pelting rain
And too much sun which came again.
Seeing how well her Fern friends grew
Moss thought of her own shed send a few.
She had lots of eager little spores
Just waiting to run through open doors.
Plenty they found on Stones broad side
And in they went and there they bide,
Covering Stone with soft green felt,
Cinching him in with a sturdy belt,
And all the Forest green folk found
Like Stream, he could be got around.
So they looked up and he looked down
And the little Ferns atop his crown
Said, Really, hes not a jerk at all.
He was just alone once hed had his fall,
And we and Moss and Stone together
All hold fast through any weather.
Hes turned into a sturdy friend
Willing to stand though he cant bend.
We all can move, old Stone cannot,
And where he lands is where hes caught.
He doesnt have the choice of space
Given to us in this green place.
When others heard the young so pleased
Hard thoughts about old grey Stone eased,
So soon more Forest habitants
Beside his shelter chose their haunts,
And found his big bulk welcomed all
Through Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall.
Now there they live in Forest green,
Young and old and in between,
Youth through age in rain and snow,
Bridging the gap of high and low,
Sharing the warmth of summer Sun.
Would it were like that for everyone.
Your Author and Artist Lynetta and Per