The Many Tales of Those that Walk

Girl passed by, boy passed by.
They never met.
One was young, the other one was vet.
On and on they walked by, until one never came by.

I was never sad. How could I ever be?
I am cold and may never feel.

Milkman walked by, being late
milk was spilled and I got wet.

Dirt warped my vision till it rained,
and there was young child that cried from heart.
Pain of body or pain of mind,
Stone can never understand that part.

How could I lift the pain that people show?
There is no way for me to play the part
of compassionate passer-by…

I am Stone, cold, and inhabitant of the road
that changed so many times.

They see me, yet no one really does.
I watch them, and make chair for toad
Collecting dust.

Once dirt-road is now pavement,
young boy is now salt old,
but I am still.

Many Tales of many Walkers,
Many Tales of Those that Walk.
Many Stories, many Tales.
I see them, but I will never talk.

Many people passed me by,
Many of them do not know why,
Inside my mind they live on.
I do not feel, but I do love.

Stvora

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