Wildflowers in front of a Cornfield, Carl Frederik Aagaard (n. d.)
Stone, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Stone I am, here forever will remain.
No wind can blow me to another place,
Like your ripened seeds, with the least of strain,
So from earth your beauty will not efface.
To be you or any other flower,
Creating generations easily.
Here standing as if a giant anchor,
Never to speak of dearest progeny.
My actual tenure here you’ll never know,
Bearing the summer heat and winter cold,
And the autumn watching seeds you do sow,
But it’s the spring when my worth is told.
From the sun I shall collect needed heat,
Protecting your progeny’s tiny feet.