Big ones, small ones
Fat ones, tall ones
Heavy ones, light ones
Dull ones, bright ones
Weighty rocks, hard to lift
Pebbly ones, that fingers sift
Flat ones and ugly ones
Smooth ones and rugged ones
Square ones, round ones
Tossed ones, found ones
Faceless or faceted'
Time worn ones, or just blasted
Polished ones and precious stones
Fosiled ones with tiny bones
Layered ones with veins and stripes
Building stones of different types
Perfect ones for building walls
Or awkward ones to use at all
Boulders stretching out for many miles
or gathered stones in tiny piles
Always do I think about 'em
And what
would I do
without them.
There'd be no shores, no mountain tops
No cliffs, no canyons, no stone outcrops
No quarry yards with tons of stone
Just emptiness, a rockless home
There'd be no stuff to make concrete
To build our buildings and our streets
No beach with smooth stones fun to find
No gems or minerals to be mined
Fields and forests would all be bare
No lichen covered moss rocks there
How do I love rocks? Let me count the ways.
I love them to their depth and breadth and height
A stone can reach where nought else might
For they end up being such ideal shapes.
I love them in great Teutonic plates
Most quiet forms, that speak their wisdom thus
I love them freely, and love how they love us
I love them purely, in tumbled mass
I love them in the way they last and last
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love them with a love I seemed to lose
With my hurried ways---and misspent youth
I love them in their simple life --- and, if they choose,
I shall but somehow put some to even better use.
