Rocks

For all the wide world thinks,
There is that beautiful stream by the rock.
They play around.
None asks the rock.
None have seen it bleed but for one.
Life recognized is life given.
A rock cannot talk to anyone else.
For everybody sees it as the prop.
The rock, it remains a prop.
But every now and then it smiles.
Every now and then.
He is afraid of never smiling again.
And a rock lies a lot.
In its nature not to show life.
He still sees his limits.
He cannot move.
She don't arrive.
He has but his company.
A lot many squat by it.
But she thinks a rock would find another.
For if she can someone else can do.
Rock is quiet.
He counts his smiles.
For he knows, off that count,
Rest of his will be but a rock.